


Depravia

by mirroredinkparadox



Series: Depravia [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bizarro American OFC, Cannibalism, Characters who exist solely for clothing detail, Clothing Obsession, Club Owner!Draco, Crack got serious, EWE, F/M, Gratuitous Americanisms, M/M, Michael Jackson references, Murder Mystery, Parseltongue fetish, Pimp Canes, auror!Harry, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirroredinkparadox/pseuds/mirroredinkparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An international rash of murders brings Harry a new American partner, a surprising reacquaintance with an old rival, and no few beheaded bodies. What does this have to do with the infamous club Depravia?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh Say Can You See/God Save The Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixRex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixRex/gifts).



"Do you know how much force it takes to chop someone's head off with a single blow without any magic to augment the force?"

"No."

"Neither do I, but damn it, this guy is either really pissed or on steroids." Harry snorted, twirling his wand anxiously.

"So, cause of death?"

"...His head's gone, Harry, what do you think?"

"Did the dismemberment occur pre or post mortem?" The medical examiner sighed and snapped the leather folder shut.

"He died because his head was chopped off." Harry grinned and plucked the file from his hands.

"Thank you."

"Don't forget to give that file back to Mallory! You remember what he did last time you lost a file!" The Auror snorted.

"Don't remind me..."

Timothy Mallory had started assigning Harry to senior agents from the moment he arrived, only to realise that the former Gryffindor did not in fact work well with others – especially not others who were either telling him what to do or fawning over him. All orders had to be carefully phrased to get him to do anything, lest he decide you were trying to control him and disregarded anything that left your mouth from there out. He'd eventually given him desk duty, something he strangely found no problem with, before the rash of murders began. Anyone not already assigned to something was placed on the case, and either sent to another country or given a partner from another Ministry of Magic and sent to another part of England. The term "rash" was not really accurate; try plague, or spree. It wasn't just local – it was international. It wasn't completely impossible that it was only one person, but the Ministries were assuming it was a group, and teaming up with one another to deal with it. Harry had been pulled from desk duty only that day and was heading to his supervisor's office to meet his new partner, an American by the name of Troy Del Toro.

"Here's your area's file."

"...This is all of London."

"Yes, I know. You'll only have to deal with Sector Five. Del Toro is waiting for you in Weasley's office; I couldn't get her to stop humming and it was driving me out of my head."

"Sorry, sir."

"...No, you aren't."

"No, I'm not. Sir, Sector Five is only one building."

"Yes – I know. Everything will be explained when you get there. Also, to cut down on costs, we're moving Del Toro into that dump you call a house."

"...Great."

"You have space, and she's competent – it's not like she'll let your little demon scare her off."

"Kreacher's not a demon, sir."

"Whatever you say, Potter. Report in every day, please. Dismissed." He nodded, already absorbed in the file as he strode out, heading towards the elevator.

"What the hell is Depravia?"

* * *

The tiny office couldn't be more cramped and unorganized, and somehow Ron managed to keep track of several relocated dragons, a herd of unicorns, and centaur relations in general. The redhead wasn't actually in today; he'd been called to Hogwarts to deal with his second year son's newest escapade. He never would have believed a Hufflepuff could be so devious if it weren't for the fact that it was his son.

"Auror Potter?" He started, pulling his attention away from the file. A woman was sitting on a cleared spot on his friend's desk, reading one of his unfiled reports.

"I'm Troy Del Toro, Magus of Washington, D.C. This your office?"

"My friend's."

"Thought so. You don't strike me as this messy. More of a closet slob, really. Not to mention, from what little of this chicken scratch I can read, these all deal with magical creatures. I was under the impression that you were assigned to investigations of a more violent, prepared sort." She returned the file to a pile and stood up, brushing herself off and readjusting her clothing. She was wearing the usual Magus uniform – pants, black, tucked into knee high boots, also black, with a slight heel and metal toe. Over this was a mock turtle neck, again in black, and in her hand she held the signature coat – thigh length, single breasted, bearing the bold brass buttons stamped with stars and battling eagle and basilisk patch, situated over the heart, in blood red. It was somehow less ostentatious than he'd imagined. As she pulled it on, he noticed the tarnished flask hanging at her hip. Apparently he was more obvious than he'd thought, because it was suddenly right in front of him, open.

"I had a friend who went to Hogwarts with you – wrote about the Mad-Eye Moody thing."

"Oh." He accepted the flask and took a quick sniff, pulling out his wand to do a series of spells on it.

"Um...this is tea."

"Yeah. I could have told you that, but I figured you'd do better if you checked yourself. Can I have it back?" He handed back, eyeing her warily.

"What, do you want my file too? Ask your supervisor for it next time you talk. We have to go, don't we?" He nodded, feeling strangely tongue tied. She didn't strike him as the law abiding type, and it was bugging him.

"Augh. Rain. Ew. And me without an umbrella. How far do we have to go before we can Apparate?"

"A few yards that way." He waved her to the left, trying not to laugh as her short hair was instantly soaked and plastered to her skull. He never saw her move to the side and stick her foot out, but he could imagine the smug look on her face as he proceeded to perform a faceplant into a miraculously appeared puddle.

"Ah, poor guy. Here, let me help you up." Did she have to almost yank his arm out of his socket? He rubbed the offending limb, glaring at her. She snorted and kept walking, humming Britain's national anthem as loud as she could. He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not.

* * *

"So, who was the friend you said went to school with me?"

"...Well, he was technically my stepbrother to be, if my dad hadn't gotten cold feet – Blaise Zabini?"

"Your father was a wise man."

"Blaise is the one who told him not to marry his mom." Harry chuckled, pushing his door open after a short moment of untangling his sadly weather sensitive wards.

"Well, you managed to look like a drowned rat after all. I suppose I owe Phineas those ten Galleons after all. Who is this?"

"...Your portraits are mean."

"He's just cranky."

"According to you, I am _always_ disenchanted by your presence."

"I like him."

"Great." Harry glared at Severus, who simply smirked at him. He had no idea when the portrait had been created or who had sent it to him, but he had to admit he was rather glad for it's presence in the house. The man was surprisingly amusing, once he got past his old grudges and uninformed dislike of him.

"Harry."

"Sorry. This is Troy Del Toro – she's been assigned to me as my partner while we investigate the murders."

"Ah, yes. The headhunter."

"Look. A house elf. Jeez, I didn't know people kept those anymore. Hi, dude." Kreacher seemed torn between horror, confusion, and dislike of the newcomer, who skipped past him to examine the rest of the house.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait. This was your godfather's home, right?"

"Yes."

"...Should I be worried about what his family may have left here?"

"Just don't go into the attic."

"Duly noted." She continued her exploration, occasionally exclaiming over something she found or – unfortunately for Harry – engaging in arguments and even a yelling match with the portraits.

"How long is she staying, pray tell?"

"Until she's reassigned or this case is over."

"Delightful..." The wizard shrugged and hung up his cloak, pausing to greet Kreacher.

"Magus Del Toro will be staying with us for an undetermined amount of time."

"Kreacher understands the Master Harry. Shall Kreacher put her in Mistress's room?" Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. Kreacher didn't just put _anyone_ in his old Mistress's room...which could only mean...he paled.

"Ah, if you would like, Kreacher. You do understand that she is my partner, and our relationship is strictly professional, yes?"

"...Kreacher understand that that is what the Master Harry says now, yes." He sighed and nodded, waving him off.

"Hey, Del Toro?"

"Call me Troy." He started, looking up. How did she get upstairs without him noticing?

"Do you want to head out to Sector Five today?"

"Hell yeah!" He yelped and jumped backwards when she vaulted over the railing and landed in a crouch in front of him, before straightening, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can we pick up some boar hearts on the way?"

"...To _eat_?"

"Yeah. Just one should be fine, actually. Really heavy in calories, good source of energy. Don't gape, you're not a fish, silly." She pushed his mouth close and strode back out, still humming that infernal song.

* * *

"I have never wanted to strangle someone so much!" Luna nodded, smiling, rearranging the flowers in the vase for a fifth time.

"It'll be alright, Harry. Troy is a bit much sometimes, but she's loyal to a fault, and she won't let anything happen to you. She's one of the best Magi in America."

"I'm worried about my safety from her!"

"Smart man." Blaise collapsed next to him, groaning.

"She's still as energetic as ever. I got her a boar's heart from the butcher down the street, so she probably won't ask you for anything for a few hours. Also, I have to ask you make sure she eats enough – she has a bad habit of forgetting to eat and has gone as long as three days without food before someone noticed." Harry blinked.

"Good at hiding it, huh?"

"Unfortunately." The Magus's voice suddenly floated in from outside the restaurant.

"Harry, I have a problem. It would be nice if you could possibly come out here and help me." He sighed and rose, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What-" He stopped in his tracks, blinking slowly.

Standing only a few yards in front of him was Troy – and a baby hippogriff. She had a sheepish expression on her face and bore a long scratch down her face.

"Um...I sort of smelled something weird, so I went around the corner from the butcher's and...well, I stumbled on a group of smugglers. This was their only cargo, but we got into a fight, and now it thinks I'm it's mother."

"Troy! This is the third time!" He turned to gape at Blaise, who was shaking his head.

"The same thing happened in Greece with that baby gryphon, and in Barbados with the unicorn!"

"It's wrong, okay? Just – can we go back to the Ministry and ask your friend to help?"

"Ron? Ah, yeah, maybe he's back now." He couldn't help but wonder if this would be his last few days – she hadn't even been here a full _day_ and she was causing trouble. She stood patiently while Luna healed the cut on her face and produced – from somewhere in the flat she shared with Blaise – a length of leather and a collar.

"Do I want to know why you have that?"

"I don't know Harry – do you?" He couldn't bring himself to continue the conversation. They made their way back to the Ministry and went straight to Ron's office.

"Hey, Harry – is that a baby hippogriff? What did you get yourself into this time?"

"It's not always me!"

"..."

"Well, this time it wasn't. It was Troy's." He pointed at the Magus, who waved.

"Hiya. Troy Del Toro." He nodded, putting down a sheaf of parchment.

"Ron Weasley. Okay, lead it back down to containment, I'll sign off on it. Don't worry about the extra paperwork, I'll get someone to take up the slack if you'll just deposit your memories in the Pensieve down there." Harry began to walk out, then stopped.

"Why is there a Pensieve in containment?" The redhead winced.

"You don't really want to know, Harry.

* * *

They eventually got back out into the city and to Sector Five, located somewhere near the center of a alley labyrinth Harry despaired getting out of.

"We should have gotten some spelled string."

"...What?"

"You know, like with the Minotaur? ...You don't, do you? What kind of wizard are you?" He glared at her, but she was again focused on something else.

"Is this it?" He looked up and took in the plain lettering on the equally plain sign.

_Heart of Depravia._

"It would appear to be it, yes."

"Are we going in?" He rolled his eyes.

"That's why we're here, Del Toro."

"Oh, last name basis. I get it. Well, _Potter_ , it may have escaped your notice – not hard, given your easily distracted attention and apparently pea-sized mind – but we were supposed to be debriefed before entering a possibly hostile situation." ...Could she sound _any_ more like Malfoy? Of all the things that had happened during his school years, his relationship with Draco Malfoy was one of the few he had never come to terms with, and still couldn't think about without seeing red. He gritted his teeth and forced his anger down, counting backwards from twenty, then thirty when he realised he was still entertaining fantasies about throwing her into a pit of snakes. Venomous snakes.

"You are correct. With that out of the way, why don't you lead the way out of here?"

"...Please." He barely blinked before she Apparated out.

"That went well..."

* * *

He finally trudged up to the door of Grimmauld Place and slammed it open, cursing the weather in increasingly louder tones. He had returned to the Ministry to get Troy's file, confident that she was sitting in the rain outside his house sulking, and was greeted by the words 'proficient at ward breaking', which immediately caused his good mood to disintegrate. Besides this ability, she was also very good at curse breaking, potions identification, physical and magical combat and espionage.

"Your day did not go well."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm glad his manners have improved."

"Yes, well, given how difficult Mr. Zabini said Magus Del Toro can be, I believe we can excuse his vulgarity this once, Phineas." The former Headmaster of Hogwarts snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Well, your little American friend is in the attic."

"Did I _not_ tell her not to go up there?"

"She is certain she can find a project to entertain herself until she forgives you." Harry narrowed his eyes at the portrait's smirking countenance.

"And did you possibly aid this decision?"

"Well, it was that or telling her that it's just sexual frustration, and forgive me if I dislike the idea of being incinerated." Harry threw up his hands and stomped out, ignoring Phineas's commentary on his childish behaviour.

"Kreacher wonders if perhaps the Master Harry would like something to eat."

"...Could you just make some hot chocolate? I'll be up in my room reading files."

"Kreacher hears and understands the Master Harry. The Master Harry's hot chocolate will be done in a few moments." He didn't answer, just dragged himself upstairs and headed to his room.

A few hours and a change of clothes later, he was lying on his bed, empty mug of chocolate now cold on his bedside table, flipping through Troy's file.

 _'Troy Rhiannon Del Toro. Five feet, seven inches. 135 pounds. Brown eyes, brown hair. Caucasian. Wand, six and three quarter inches, ebony with ivory detail, core of powdered unicorn horn and chimera's fang.'_ The details went on and on. It was longer than his, which suggested she was either his senior or, heavens forbid, a prodigy. He didn't like prodigies, especially ones who had been told over and over that they were a prodigy, and therefore special. How many prodigies did you see fighting Voldemort, hmm? He snorted at that thought. It was hypocritical of him to use that as a meter by which to measure others' accomplishments. It was by luck and sheer chance that he'd managed what he had while at Hogwarts.

"Are you done sulking, Harry?"

"Yes, Sev, I'm done sulking." He thrown something at the portrait earlier, and only after much effusive apology did the man return, but he wouldn't talk to the younger man until he'd stopped pouting and swearing every time he brought up Troy. The Auror rolled over and groaned.

"We were doing fine, and all of a sudden we're at each other's throats."

"Would you like to examine that more closely?"

"I already know why – she reminded me of Malfoy." Severus sighed.

"I really wish you would get over that childish feud." Harry laughed bitterly, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"So do I, but damn it, every single time I think about it, even for a moment, I feel like punching someone!" Severus clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"And do you?"

"No. I'm not _that_ immature." He slowly sat up, rubbing his temples.

"Is this my fault?"

"Define this."

"This entire bloody stupid mess."

"Harry."

"Sorry. But really! She wasn't acting out of the ordinary – for what little I'd seen, anyway – and then we're arguing and she was abandoning me in back alleys."

"Oh, are we mulling over the boy's little lover's spat?" Phineas popped his head into the frame Severus was currently occupying and strode in, smirking at the irritated Auror. Harry couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the man smile a genuine smile.

"Phineas, must you insist on being a nuisance?"

"This is my house, Severus."

"Legally, it's mine, Phineas."

"What does legality have to do with this?" Severus chuckled as Harry ceded to that point, smiling a bit. They all turned to the door when a hesitant knock broke through their mirth.

"Hey, Harry? Kreacher says dinner's ready and asked me to come get you because you said not to bother you." Troy's normally raucous voice was soft, subdued. He climbed off the bed and opened the door, meeting her eyes.

"Hi."

"...Hi." Phineas and Severus had made themselves mercifully scarce (though Harry mused Severus had probably dragged Phineas after him, because he couldn't imagine the man would give up a chance to harass Harry), leaving him to deal with a painfully apologetic Magus.

"Hey, can we just forget about it, Troy? I was being unreasonable."

"Really? Because I'm the one who snapped at you."

"...So now we're going to argue about who's fault it is?"

"No. We're going to agree that I'm right and you're wrong." He met her grin with his own, shaking his head.

"Sure, Troy. What's for dinner?"

"Pierogis."

"...Kreacher can't make pierogis."

"Then it's a good thing I'm the one who made them, isn't it?"


	2. Remember Us As Heads Roll Away

Harry woke up with Kreacher's complaints about having his duties usurped still ringing in his ears. The house elf had been crushed by his perceived inability to provide his master with a proper meal, and only after he'd stopped him from ironing one of his ears did Harry get him to calm down. They had all agreed to let Kreacher cook breakfast and lunch, and Troy could – when she felt the urge – do dinner. The house elf had been placated, but Harry's ears still felt like they were bleeding.

Or maybe that was due to the pounding on his door.

"I'm coming, I'm _coming_." He yanked open the door and blinked at Kreacher, who held up the tiny owl to him, eyes narrowed at it.

"Kreacher could not get smelly bird to leave. Smelly bird pecked Kreacher, Master Harry!" The wizard sighed and took the owl.

"I'm sorry Kreacher. Go get an orange and see to breakfast. I'll deal with this." The elf beamed and disappeared with a crack that did nothing for his ears. Strange creature was obsessed with oranges.

"Uhg..." The owl was carrying two letters from, much to his surprise, Hogwarts, one from Minerva and one from his godson, Ron and Hermione's eldest, Gaius. He opened Minerva's first and observed the request for him to join her as soon as possible to discuss a murder in Hogsmeade, with assurances that he was cleared to join them by Mallory, then turned to Gaius's. This one similarly contained information as to the murder, and a polite request that should he arrive at the Headmistress's request, could he possibly join him for lunch? He chuckled and penned two hasty replies, and gave them to the owl, releasing him out his bedroom window.

As he padded downstairs, he paused to note that the pipes were working for once – he could hear the shower running down the hall. Kreacher appeared at his side and handed him the Prophet, and walked then entire way to the kitchen with him, discussing the events detailed in that day's news. It was a ritual that had begun sometime three years ago when Harry had been succumbing to depression and needed someone other than Phineas and Severus to talk to. It had been a surprise discovery that Kreacher read his discarded papers, and he'd tentatively asked the ancient house elf his opinion. He'd had quite a bit to say, with no little amount of scorn, which never ceased to amuse him. He looked up when he heard Troy greet Kreacher and Phineas, the latter with a splintering insult that seemed to impress the man greatly, before padding into the dining room.

"Morning, Harry." Her hair was still wet, and sticking up in various directions, reminding Harry remarkably of his own hair.

"Good morning Troy. ...Are you still wearing your uniform?" She blinked and looked down at her black attire.

"No, I usually wear this. It just happens to also be part of my uniform. Why?"

"Just curious. We're going to Hogwarts later."

"...Why?"

"Murder in Hogsmeade. The Headmistress requested I be there."

"And I have to come with you?"

"Yes, or else what would be the point of being my partner?" She yawned.

"Perks." He rolled his eyes and thanked Kreacher as he placed plates on the the table, before retreating into the kitchen again. Troy stopped talking altogether, eating at a startling rate, finishing in mere minutes.

"Ah...did you even taste what you just ate?"

"...Yeah." He shook his head in awe.

"Wow."

"Whatever, man. Just finish up, 'kay?" He sipped his tea almost absently as she disappeared back out the door, and he noticed she was barefoot – and had tattoos on her feet.

* * *

The Portkey was a stuffed monkey. This somehow didn't bode well in Harry's mind as they strode out of the Forbidden Forest and towards Hogwarts.

"Whoa. It is as impressive as the book says."

"Book?"

"Yeah, you know, bound pieces of paper, tend to have information written inside? A History of Hogwarts, in this case. I read it once – couldn't concentrate on more than a couple pages at a time, but I read it nevertheless!"

"...And you say _I'm_ easily distracted?"

"Shut up, mealy mouthed Brit."

"Foul mouthed, uncouth American."

"...I'd say you won that one."

"I'd say I did too." She giggled as he rolled his eyes at her antics again. He led her into the Great Hall, taking in the time.

"It's about the middle of breakfast, I'd say-"

"Uncle Harry!" He yelped as one of his godchildren slammed into him – from the height and odd white stripe running down the center of his head, he'd say it was Gorman, Ron and Hermione's twelve year old.

"Hi, Gorman. You're cutting off circulation to the rest of my body and possibly cracking my ribs." Definitely his mother's child. He released him and grinned, before shooting back to his seat amongst the murmurs. He flashed one of the "Saviour smiles", as Ron had dubbed them, at the rest of the students, and strode up to the head table to greet Minerva, Troy trailing behind him, oddly subdued.

"Harry. How are you?" He accepted the less possibly fatal hug with a warm smile.

"I'm doing well, Minnie – and you?"

"I admit, I had hoped for a slightly less exciting few years, but Ronald's children never cease to entertain." He assumed she was referring to Gorman and Gorman's older sisters, Patricia – a Ravenclaw – and Lachesis, or Lacy, a Slytherin. Gaius was, of all his siblings, the most laid back.

"Well, they do have me as a godfather."

"And I often wonder how it is Gaius turned out so well." He laughed at her teasing tone, then gently pulled Troy forward.

"Troy, this is Minerva McGonagall, current Headmistress and my Transfiguration professor. Minerva, this is Troy Del Toro, an American Magus sent to help me with the investigation." Troy offered a small, barely visible smile and shook Minerva's hand, but something was on her mind, and he intended on finding out what.

"I don't suppose you'll stay and eat."

"Ah...I had breakfast, but I suppose I can stay." He looked questioningly at Troy, who smiled a bit wider, nodding a bit.

"Then it's settled." He was a bit relieved Minerva sat back down and offered them seats without bothering to make an announcement – everyone knew who he was, and even if they hadn't seen one before, most people knew what a Magus was and what one looked like.

He briefly walked with Lacy to her Potions class, and was slightly amused to find Severus in a portrait, quizzing the new professor mercilessly. The woman kept her head and apparently passed his interrogation, because he sat back and left her alone soon after they arrived. He decided to give Troy a brief tour after Minerva told them they wouldn't be required to go to Hogsmeade for a few hours. It was until they got to the Chamber of Secrets that he realised just how removed he'd become from his misadventures. Being in the Chamber left him feeling slightly melancholy, but there was no other reaction besides a brief scornful laugh at Lockhart's idiocy. They were headed up to Minerva's office a few hours later when Troy finally spoke.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"It's almost lunch, and you promised Gaius you'd join him, remember? He got special permission to go to Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah, ah...what are you going to do while we're there?"

"Snoop." He raised an eyebrow at her mischievous expression.

"Alright then-" He started when he heard a familiar voice from the shelf above.

"If it isn't Mr. Potter." He smiled up at the worn, battered hat.

"Hello." The hat rasped a strange, rickety laugh.

"It's been some time."

"A little over twenty years. I guess you do remember everyone."

"Ah, yes. Who is this with you? Not a Hogwarts student." He nodded – as well as an animated hat could – at Troy.

"No, this is Troy Del Toro, an American Magus. Troy, the Sorting Hat."

"I sort of figured that out. Not many intelligent talking hats in the vicinity."

"Smart, this one is – even added a qualifier. I'm flattered." She smirked.

"Well, you _are_ intelligent. I've met many an animated hat that has the intelligence of a gnat."

"I don't think I want to know."

"You don't think often in general." She ducked his swat, still smirking.

"Harry, please tell me you aren't hitting your partner. That's very unprofessional." He managed to look somewhat sheepish as Minerva walked in.

"Now, I'm asking Patricia to go with you, Magus Del Toro, and Gaius to pick some things up for me. I'd like it if you, Magus, could perhaps bring her back if she finishes before Harry and Gaius do."

"Of course, Headmistress – it's my duty to see to a minor's safety, regardless of what country I'm in." She smiled sagely at the automatic reply.

"Very good. I'll see you soon, then." They made their farewells and departed quickly, meeting the Weasley children at the entrance.

* * *

Patricia reminded Harry quite a bit of Molly at first glance, but there was a glint in her eyes that never would have shown itself in the matriarch's eyes, not even in the middle of a battle. It was a cold, calculating glint that told anyone who could interpret it that this girl was not someone to be taken lightly, and she could very well become amoral in the pursuit of knowledge she deemed her own. It was more than slightly alarming.

Gaius, on the other hand, was very much like Ron, sans the explosive temper. If Harry were to compare him to an animal, it would be to a goat. Even-tempered and calm if he liked you, but obstinate and mean-spirited to those he disliked. Gaius was usually very calm, and had an extremely long fuse. The only person who could consistently anger him was his younger sister Lacy, Patricia's Slytherin twin.

"Good afternoon, Gaius, Patricia. This is Troy." Patricia's pale blue eyes narrowed slightly, but her warm smile stayed fixed.

"Are you, by chance, the Magus Del Toro who discovered and single-handedly destroyed a group intent on performing a coup to unseat the President two years ago?" Troy nodded shortly, face blank, and Harry blinked. He'd heard about that incident – he'd been one of the few nominated to join the Magi as the President's honour guard for the next year. He didn't remember reading about it in her file.

"Huh. Interesting. Can we go?" Patricia grinned at her godfather's impatience.

"Of course, Uncle." The title had been given to him by Gorman, but they all tended to use it as a general rule, save for Lacy, who preferred to call him Harry, or, when she was feeling particularly feisty, Mr. Potter. They set out on the short walk to Hogsmeade, trading small talk – mostly between the two teens and Harry, about school. Troy only spoke up very rarely. They split up upon entering Hogsmeade, Harry and Gaius going right, Troy and Patricia left. Harry followed Gaius to a fairly new establishment, Slice. The delicatessen cafe duo was the brainchild of a Hogwarts dropout from a few years earlier. Harry let Gaius order for him, feeling preoccupied with Troy's strange change in behaviour.

"Uncle?"

"Yes, Gaius?"

"You seem to be distracted. Is it your partner?"

"Yeah...she's acting strangely. She seemed fine when she got up this morning, and she was enthusiastic enough when we first arrived, but now she's so close mouthed I wonder if I did something to offend her." The teen shrugged, fiddling with a galleon.

"Maybe she's just not comfortable around new people. I know Joan is like that – she's very outgoing around us, but get her around a lot of new people and she shuts down and won't talk unless spoken to directly."

"...Maybe that's it. It shouldn't bug me as much as it does."

"You're easily concerned – it just shows you care a lot." He rolled his eyes.

"Or it means I'm easily preoccupied."

"That too." He laughed and shook his head, dropping the subject and asking about Quidditch instead. Gaius didn't play, but Lacy was the Slytherin Seeker and was slaughtering Slytherin's opponents.

"Their game is so much better than last year's – I think she must have threatened them or something. Gallows was beating them mercilessly before."

"Gallows...Alexander Gallows? Lacy's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, fifth year like me. He's Gryffindor's captain as of last year." Harry nodded, then tilted his head in question.

"Beater?"

"Yeah." He winced.

"And with a name like Gallows too...Poor Snakes."

"Not anymore. Now they're neck and neck, and somehow it's not affected their relationship at all."

"Good relationship management. That's good." He paused again, taking the galleon from his godson and spinning it between them.

"...Ron hasn't met him yet, has he?"

"Nope. Mom says he won't until he's graduated. She's afraid he might do something rash." Harry snorted and slapped a hand over the coin, sliding it back to him.

"Can't imagine why."

* * *

Troy sat on the wall built around the manor's garden, staring down at the crime scene.

"Head severed from his body, one chop, same as all the others." Harry leaned over the stone structure.

"Anything new?"

"No – what, waiting for a love letter from the murderer? Maybe a crazed fan trying to get your attention?" He moved through the gate, crouching beside the dip in the ground where the man had been found, answering absently.

"Shut up, Troy...I think I found something."

"Oooooh! Let us hail the glorious Saviour's skills! What is it?" She hopped down, leaning over his back, causing him to almost fall over when he felt her warm breath on the back of his neck and realised 1. that her hands were pushing down on his shoulders, and 2. how close she really was.

"Sorry." He shrugged and waved her off, trying to regain his overall balance.

"Ah – I found a tooth."

"Human? Our victim's a goblin."

"Yes, human." She crowed victoriously, further discombobulating him and adding to a newly formed headache pounding right behind his eyes.

"Augh. We need to see the body – I have a hunch."

"Ah-ha! He has a hunch!" He stared at her, wondering if perhaps his godson had been right, with one tiny detail off – she was bloody insane. She beamed at him.

"As I was saying...I have a hunch, and would you please tell me where you found out the body is during your snooping?"

"Town morgue, up the street from here. After you, mighty Auror Potter."

"Stop it." She skipped ahead of him, a strange sight to be seen, with her militant attire and haircut. He followed at a more sedate pace, wondering if he'd brought any headache cures with him when they'd left the house.

"Here it is." He just nodded, pushing the door open and entering the cheery cottage.

"Good afternoon, Auror Potter." He nodded again, rubbing his forehead. Hadn't he gotten past the headache stage of his life? His fingers brushed his scar, never again to bother him. Apparently not. He'd gotten a new nuisance – this one loud and female.

"Ah..."

"Auror Potter and I are here about the goblin murdered down the street."

"Ah, yes. This way, Ms. ...?"

"Magus Del Toro."

"Of course. This way, Magus Del Toro." She followed him at a slightly less enthused pace than before, but not before she pushed a small vial into Harry's hand.

"Headache cure. Stop pushing yourself so hard – keep thinking so much and your skull might not explode."

"Thanks, Troy..."

"Mm-hmm!" He downed it without testing it, a testament to either his insanity, sudden exhaustion, or trust, he wasn't sure.

"Here we are, Auror Potter, Magus Del Toro." He slipped past the short man he'd somehow managed to overlook before – in too much pain, he guessed – and moved to stand over the body, eyes sweeping the slightly gray skin.

"We've never found the heads, right?"

"Right. Makes identifying them a bit of a bitch, but fortunately people have, so far, had memories about them other than just their faces."

"Yeah...Do we know his name?"

"Not so far, no. A few people think he might be Grimwin, an apothecary who works and lives in the city most of the time, and stays here on the weekends."

"We have people checking up on that?"

"We'll have to ask when we report to Mallory." He nodded, feeling somewhat more alert.

"Okay. We'll have a group of people follow up on Grimwin and any other leads for missing goblins. We need to look at all the victims' files – we'll pick them up today. Now, come over here for a second." She moved to his side, starting when he pulled her in front of him.

"What does this ragged wound look like to you?"

"Um..either it tore or he was – bitten." She looked up at him.

"You found a tooth, right?" He smiled grimly.

"Exactly." He moved away from her and turned to the small man who hovered by the door.

"Mr. ...?"

"Climborn, Auror Potter – Matthew Climborn."

"Mr. Climborn, if you could work with the Aurors we'll be sending down here to transport this body to the medical examiner at headquarters, we would be very grateful."

"Would be my duty, young man." He smiled, nodded, and pulled Troy after him as they headed back out into the bright street.

"You can stop trying to crush my wrist bones now, Harry." He started and looked down at her wrist, which was in fact still in the circle of his hand. He dropped it, blushing slightly.

"Sorry – I didn't actually hurt you, did I?"

"Nope. I'm prone to exaggeration. Can we go back to Hogwarts before we head home? I kinda want to eat dinner there. Seems like a fun place." He stretched, smiling.

"You have no idea."

* * *

They joined the Gryffindor table, and soon the Gryffindors had a Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw all seated the same vicinity, laughing and teasing the Saviour of the Wizarding World, pestering him mercilessly while the professors looked on. Troy relaxed almost completely, joking with the youngest Weasley, who delighted in finding someone who understood his somewhat twisted humour, and furthermore enjoyed it. They were about to leave when a bird of prey screamed above. Eyes all turned to the eagle soared into the Great Hall, resting before Harry, blinking icily. He slowly untied the message from its leg and watched it wing back out, screaming again. He stared at the card, black with silver, flowing script, and a small stamp depicting a emerald snake wrapped around a peacock, holding a blood red apple in its mouth.

 _'I invite you to enter our world, Saviour, and speak with the serpents of Depravia.'_ No signature, no mark of any kind besides the stamp to hint at who had sent it.

"Ah...It seems we must go. Thank you for your hospitality, Headmistress. We hope to join you again soon." He could barely hear Troy graciously bidding them farewell over the buzzing.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get you out of here." He didn't really remember walking out of Hogwarts, or releasing the card to Troy so she could test it; didn't really remember taking the Portkey back to Grimmauld, didn't remember Troy Flooing Ron and asking him to look after the dazed Saviour while she reported to Mallory. He barely remembered Kreacher's growing panic, when Severus' icy bark snapped through the fog.

"Harry!" He jerked up, startled, eyes wide.

"What – what-"

"Mate, we've been trying to get your attention for five minutes now." He blinked, feeling a bead of sweat run down his spine.

"I – was I hexed?"

"No. It wasn't just a flashback?"

"No...I...I don't remember anything." Severus tapped a rapid tattoo on the table beside him, eyes narrowed.

"Odd. Something about that card registered to you on an unconscious level, to your deepest magics. Did you see lights, patterns? Images?" He shook his head negatively with each question. The older man shook his head, obviously irritated.

"Strange, very strange. ...Very well. Go to bed, Harry. Phineas and I will work with Magus Del Toro to see what we can find of this odd event."

Confident that the matter was in good hands, he bid Ron good night and stumbled up the stairs to his room, collapsing into his bed and letting his mind go blank for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Actually there's no plot and Troy exists to torment Harry - just ask him.


	3. If Alice Could See Us Now

The morning was not kind to him; first, unbearably bright sunlight chose to filter through the window in such a way that it would stream across his eyes, no matter what angle he was at, so he could not open his eyes without being blinded. It chose to be colder than usual that day as well, and glory of glories, his plumbing chose to be uncooperative. After much swearing, scolding, pleading, and several spells to no avail, he got dressed without a shower, cleaned his teeth, dragged a comb through his hair, and stomped downstairs. Kreacher sensed his master's mood and didn't speak up save for to take his order, and fled to the kitchen immediately afterward.

"Morning, sunshine of my life." Two glasses shattered and Troy paused at the door, eyeing the glass Kreacher was now frantically trying to clean up.

"Well now. Someone's not having a good morning."

"Kindly cease speaking and sit down." She raised an eyebrow and did as told, fighting a smirk. He instantly noticed her hair was wet and his eyes narrowed dangerously. She held up her hands to stave off the rant.

"I showered at the Ministry this morning – I was up before you and noticed the water wasn't working."

"And you couldn't have woken me up and _told_ me?"

"...You don't strike me as someone who likes to be woken up." More shattering glass.

"I hope you have a shitload of money, if this is your usual reaction to inconvenience."

"He does." She looked up in surprise at the newcomer, who didn't bother greeting Harry, instead smacking him upside the back of his head, resulting in some colourful words she knew for a fact were not the staple of English expletives.

"He speaks Italian?"

"He's been hanging out with Blaise a lot. Neville Weasley."

"Troy Del Toro."

"Why the _hell_ are you in my house!"

"You gave me your key." The shorter man dropped his head against the table and groaned.

"Who the bloody hell do I thank for this morning?" Neville shrugged and cleaned up the rest of the glass, ignoring Kreacher's squeak of objection and disapproval.

"Harry needs food, Kreacher – I figured this would be faster." The house elf's ears didn't move from their flattened position, but he entered the kitchen, presumably to finish breakfast, anyway.

"Ron Floo'd me and asked me to check up on you. Something about you have a miniature version of your fits from when you began at the Ministry."

"It wasn't anything like that – I got a card, presumably regarding the case we're working on, and it affected me strangely. No curses, not even an accidental charm. Sev has an idea as to what happened but has not seen fit to inform me." Troy fiddled with her flask.

"He doesn't seem like the type of person to give you information he isn't sure of himself."

"That is usually the case, yes." He sighed and lifted his head from the table.

"How's George, Neville?"

"He's meeting a colleague in Germany about a business venture proposed to him last month."

"So you're both doing well."

"Better than last year." Harry nodded, dropping all attempts at conversation when food appeared on the table. He briefly gestured for Neville and Troy to help themselves before devouring his own portion, ignoring them completely. Kreacher popped in briefly to nod approvingly, then popped back out to get his mail. The trio briefly discussed the news (Troy made commentary on the gossip section, Neville and Harry actually discussed the news itself) and Troy gave the files she'd picked up from Mallory to Harry.

"He agrees with you on all counts and is giving you the lead on the case here in England, since you've made the most headway. Politically, I'd say you're still well off – the people I talked to don't seem to mind. I asked Ron to listen for naysayers nevertheless."

"Thank you." Neville laughed at his irritated expression.

"Don't glare at her, Harry. You would have done the same thing to secure yourself had you been there." He sighed.

"Yes, but I can't help but wish I'd spoken to them myself."

"They would have been just as likely to lie to you as to me – probably more likely actually, since most people are loathe to speak against powerful figures to their faces."

"That's never been a problem for me."

"Personally?"

"Yes – I never had a problem with speaking out against powerful people to their faces, and I've had no few curses launched in my direction by people who disagree with my various stances."

"Yes, but you're you – and out of ten encounters, how often do people not gush?"

"..."

"Exactly." He rolled his eyes and stood, picking up his plate and walking to the kitchen.

"I'll meet you at Blaise and Luna's, then?"

"Yeah – I need to go shower and pick some things up. I'll meet you in an hour or so."

* * *

"Back in the labyrinth."

"You needn't sound so cheery, Troy..." The woman shrugged, stretching. She'd eschewed her Magus uniform for white knee high boots that miraculously didn't attract dirt (MAGIC!), black pants, another mock neck shirt, this one long sleeved and in red, and a black dragonhide vest, detailed with a bovine skull of some sort on the back. Around her neck was her badge, with the Magus eagle and basilisk crest, hanging on a gleaming chain.

"You opted not to wear the uniform, but the badge is in plain sight?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. It's just a coincidence. Keep telling yourself that and you'll see how easy it is to say it to other people." She grinned cheekily at his disbelieving expression and pushed the door to Depravia open.

"Let's go." He rolled his eyes and swept past her, letting his eyes roam the hallway for any doors or windows.

"So, this is one of those magically expanded buildings – thousands of rooms inside, tiny building on the outside. We're instructed not to split up and just see what we can find. Mallory won't say why this area in particular sparked his interest, but it did, so here we are." He ignored her melodramatic gesture to the dingy hallway and kept walking."

" _Harry_."

"Don't whine, Troy. It's especially unbecoming in the current situation."

"Since when do I care what is and isn't unbecoming of me? Oooh! What's this? A crest, hmm?" He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. She was standing in front of a dark tapestry bearing an enormous crest of sorts. A peacock stood in the background, tail fully unfurled. On either side was a rearing bull and snake, the bull with a crown on its head, the snake holding an apple in its mouth, and before all of the animals was a sword through a leering human skull.

"Cute."

"I'll say." She slowly shifted the tapestry.

"Nothing behind it." Tapped the wall.

"Not hollow." Quick, barely perceptible wand motion.

"No glamours, no charms of any sort. Just decoration, as far as I can tell without taking it with us." He nodded and beckoned, holding the door at the end of hall open.

"We'll come back to it if need be. Right now, though, we should find out who sent us the card." She rolled her shoulders, looking suddenly uneasy.

"Why didn't Mallory tell us anything about who owns this place? He wouldn't even say what it...was..." They both stared at the new area, stomachs dropping as a particularly loud moan floated to their ears.

"Oh."

* * *

Depravia, according to the leaflet the slender man who had appeared to guide them to 'Templar', was a pleasure kingdom. There was no question to Harry exactly what that meant as they passed a pair of naga twined around a man who appeared to be drugged.

"This is legal?" The small man, who had introduced himself as Nis, chuckled.

"...Define legal, Sir."

"Never mind..." Troy's eyes darted around, occasionally skimming over a particularly enthusiastic group.

"Harry, why didn't we think of glamouring you?"

"It wouldn't be worth the effort. Trust me." She nodded, sending a glare at a group of women – whose ages were questionable, if you asked her – who were focusing an inordinate amount of attention on Harry. This main room was apparently just a club – granted, a club where orgies took place in various parts of the room, with various species not naturally meant to enter into such activities, but it was nevertheless just a club, like any club where illegal activities might normally take place.

"Our workers don't usually entertain out here – there's several suites prepared for such activities on the fifth floor. Below us are the dungeons; our patrons who desire pain for pleasure frequent it, as a general rule. The general entertainment takes place here, as you can see. Beyond that, most of the floors are themed."

"Themed?"

"Yes, by philia or fetish."

"Pedophilia-"

"Absolutely not. Templar would never allow it. They were quite clear about that, and once or twice, a pedophile has made their way here, but...well, their survival depended entirely on them."

"Well, there's one less thing to be disturbed about."

"I imagine it's not called Depravia for no reason, Harry."

"Right you are, miss. Pray, shall you be coming here often?"

"...For the next few weeks, probably."

"Splendid. You spoke of a card." Harry fished it out and gave it to the man, who held it up to the light and smiled.

"A personal invitation from Templar! Glorious. Well, with this you are an official member, with anyone you might wish to invite."

"I'll ponder that one." The man chuckled again and led them behind the expansive bar.

"Now, there are a few areas on this floor not specially given to sexual activity – just as any club may have. You have heard of Purloined, perhaps?" Harry nodded, smiling at Troy's eyeroll. Purloined was a gay bar opened some twenty years ago, and was still considered one of the best spots in town for extracurricular activities.

"Purloined is also owned by Templar – you can enter it from here, should you crave somewhat less provocative activities." They followed him upstairs and endured some of the odder fetishes – as far as Harry was concerned – and a few he didn't really want to wrap his brain around. Nis finally led them to a gleaming elevator.

"Now we will descend to the lowest level of Depravia – the restricted section, only accessible if one has a personal invitation from Templar themselves."

"You keep referring to Templar as 'they'; are they a man or a woman?"

"Templar has not chosen to impart that knowledge on you yet, and I may not breach my employer's trust. They have been seen as both genders by their exclusive patrons."

"...Thanks for clearing that up."

"Be nice, Troy..." Nis smiled at them and swiped a keycard, smile growing with every passing moment. Harry wondered if people usually reacted with terror after long periods of time with him.

"Please, enter." He sighed and walked in first, noticing that Troy followed backwards, facing Nis.

 _Nice to know she has my back._ Nis seemed not to notice her behaviour and pressed the single button, still smiling widely. _Doesn't his face hurt by now?_ Harry snorted at the inane quality of his thoughts and fell silent, counting how long it took to get to the lowest level.

"Welcome, Nis and guests." Three minutes. He didn't know how far they'd gone or how fast, but he had a time. They filed out after Nis and took in their new surroundings.

* * *

It was a sort of twisted mockery of a Hellenic temple. Black marble with white marble accents dominated; scattered across the floor were couches, all in black and blood red, with silver and gold accents littered across the furniture. Low, dark wooden tables sat before each couch, and fine crystal adorned these. As his eyes swept over the floor, he noted the enormous clock embedded in the stone, and apparently fully functional.

"It's beneath a sheet of crystal."

"Ah." The walls held tapestries and paintings, and here and there, busts and statues of various ages could be seen. They were each grouped together by time period and origin, and gave no sense of mismatched décor.

 _~A brother in voice. How charming.~_ He started, looking up and paling a bit at what he saw.

The ceiling was a mass of twisted stone and metal serpents in a thousand different colours and sizes, not even all the same species, let alone all mortal. The central one was, shock of shocks, a basilisk. To further add to his discomfort, not all of the snakes seemed bound to the writhing mass – some moved down the pillars ringing the room and even moved onto the floor – always bound to the stone but nevertheless mobile. A few held glowing orbs in their mouths.

_~Ah...hello.~_

_~Greetings, slayer. We have heard much of you from the bright one. He does not speak our tongue, but his voice is nevertheless heard.~_

_~The bright one?~_

_~Yesss...the one they call Templar.~_ So this Templar was in fact a he.

"Um...Harry – I think you have fans." He blinked and looked over at the flushed faces of a group of men and women lounging nearby.

"Yes, these patrons do have a bit of a Parseltongue fetish. Forgive their stares." Well. He wouldn't be doing _that_ in here again. Troy snickered at his blush and flung an arm around his shoulders.

"You'll be fine, snake mouth. Anyone who can whisper with serpents is well off in life." He froze, ears ringing. That term – whisper with serpents...

"Harry? You alright?" He shrugged her off, grinning weakly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Um...we shouldn't keep Templar waiting, should we?" Nis smiled again, and Harry fought the urge to wince. His teeth were too straight, his smile too wide, and his eyes to small to pull off that expression and _not_ be terrifying. He led them through the lounging groups, occasionally greeting one here and there, before pausing at the enormous door at the far end of the room. The door was relatively plain – again, in dark wood, like the tables. The handles – if the twisted pair of rings could be called that – were another pair of snakes, much to Harry's chagrin.

"I am not to witness this meeting. Go, go." He sighed and met Troy's eyes, and was heartened by the wink she sent him.

~ _I am to speak with Templar.~_

 _~Enter.~_ The doors ground open, and immediately smoke rolled out, scented with myrrh.

"...Tacky. Expensive, but tacky."

"Troy!" She smiled innocently, and he shook his head, wondering if that throbbing behind his eyes was another Troy induced headache.

He really hoped not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment video - the ambiance at least - is a pretty good representation of Depravia upon entering. Minus fabulous glittering popstars.


	4. Back to Basics and Blondes

This room was darker than the one outside – lit by candles instead of the orbs the snakes held. A single bed and two couches took up the majority of the space – both couches were against the wall, and the bed was a bit off to the side. Nevertheless, there was a large empty space – one that instantly reminded Harry of a dance floor. Odd. The bed was surrounded by shimmering cloth and completely obscured, but that was largely irrelevant because the person he assumed was Templar was lounging on the nearest couch.

"Good morning, Harry, Troy."

"Oh, so you know our names. I'm _so scared_."

"I'm not trying to inspire fear." It _was_ a bit irritating that he was essentially in shadow – wait. He knew that voice. Troy looked at him to back her up, but he was too busy trying to figure out why he sounded so damn familiar.

"Having some problems, _Potter_?" No. Fucking. Way.

"Who the hell are you?" He started to tell Troy, but apparently she had an issue she needed cleared up.

"And what the _hell_ was with the smoke? That is incredibly tacky."

"Ah, yes. My client requested it. I cannot say I was not a bit disgusted." Harry felt a strange shiver go down his spine.

"Client?"

"Yes, Harry – I had thought the floors Nis showed you would have made my vocation abundantly clear to you, but apparently you are as oblivious as ever." His mind was not coping well with this information, apparently, because he was having the absolutely ridiculous thought that no one on _Earth_ would dare use him like that. It was preposterous, and yet, he said he owned this place. He did this willingly.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?"

"Oh, don't worry. He used to have fits like this all the time at school."

"At least I didn't drag out injuries like a drama queen on steroids, _Malfoy._ " Troy did a double take, gaping at Harry as Templar – better known to the public as Draco Malfoy – stood up and glided forward, draping his arms around Harry's neck.

"How _sweet._ After all these years, you can recognise me by my voice alone." This was why he'd had that odd, dazed reaction. Draco had always smelled like rain and amber – subtle and infuriating, it clung to everything he touched, and had always driven him insane at school. He began to push him away, angry for no apparent reason. The arms around his neck tightened and pulled him forward – the scent overwhelmed him and he inhaled in surprise when soft lips touched his own. He gasped against Draco's mouth, his hands moving up to grasp his shoulders without his consent. The blonde's tongue swept over his lower lip then into his mouth, seeming to move over every ridge in his mouth, before moving to battle with his own tongue. He faintly registered a moan, but couldn't tell if it had come from him or Draco. Cool fingers ran down the back of his neck as Draco pulled away, brushing feather light kisses over his jaw, down his throat, and then back up his face to his scar. The sensation of warm breath on the sensitive scar tissue jolted him back to reality and he yanked away from him, panting harshly. He had barely recovered when he heard the crack of someone being slapped and looked up to Draco holding a hand to his face, smirking slightly, while Troy moved further into the room, apparently irritated.

"Jesus, and here I thought this would be a normal operation. No, my partner is Harry Potter – in a building full of snake whisperer fetishists – and upon meeting the mastermind behind this strange club, he jumps said partner after being revealed as his infamous school years rival."

"Don't blame this on me."

"This is obviously your fault. Okay, Malfoy – did you contact us just so you could jump Harry's bones, or do you have information that might help us?" The blonde yawned, disappearing behind a screen Harry had managed to overlook in the corner.

"I do have some information for you, but I'd have to have inside information on the case to corroborate it." A light flared behind the screen and Troy rolled her eyes as Harry blushed and looked anywhere but at Draco's silhouette.

"What information, exactly, do you need to help us?"

"Mm...just the most basic details about the victims." There was shuffling sound and the sound of silky material whispering against skin. Harry stared at the shadowed ceiling, hissing oaths under his breath.

"What was that, Harry?" He swallowed a yelp at the sound of Draco's voice in his ear.

"Damn it! What the hell is wrong with you!" The former Slytherin chuckled and glided towards a snake statue, activating the orb in its mouth. As light filled the room, Harry took in Draco's appearance and stared.

He was the same height as Troy, an inch shorter than Harry. Age had done little to his facial features, softening a few of the sharp edges and thinning his face a bit. He was wearing eyeliner – something Harry was sad to admit he could identify immediately; he could even tell what brand by the colour – which made his silver eyes seem a bit larger and more slanted. Much to Harry's surprise, his hair was long – stopping at the middle of his back, if not a bit lower, and left down. The entire effect was rather feminine, but the strength of Draco's features made it androgynous. _And hot. Damn it._ He was wearing a short, black wrap-around coat in silk over a longer silver shirt, over black slacks and gleaming black slippers, furthering the genderless image. As he pushed some of his hair back while searching for something near the screen, Harry noticed something glinted around his ear. It was a skeletal snake ear cuff, twining around the shell of his ear to rest its head at the top, revealing that it was holding a skull in its mouth.

"You have a thing for snakes having stuff in their mouths, don't you?" That sounded wrong...

"Mmm – I suppose I like having things in my mouth, and it just translates to snakes." He wished he hadn't asked. He produced a gleaming cuff from a small dark chest and threaded his hair through it.

"Are you preparing for an engagement of some sort?"

"Not unless you want to hire me, Harry." Troy snickered at Harry's red face.

"So you're coming with us?"

"I imagine you have the files I need to look at, so yes." He produced a pair of gloves, eyed them critically, then hooked them to his belt, turning to Troy.

"Between my getting reacquainted with Harry and your defense of his honour, we were never properly introduced." She held out her hand, obviously expecting him to shake it, and was startled when he caught it with both of his and raised it to his lips, brushing the slightest kiss across the skin.

"Draco Malfoy. You are...?"

"...Magus Troy Del Toro." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Can we _go_?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Considering that there's some psycho running around beheading people, yes."

"Hmm. I imagine that is a pressing engagement. Lead on, Harry."

"Blaise's?"

"Yeah."

* * *

He endured Troy's merciless questioning of Draco and subsequent prying into their past relationship ("We didn't _have_ a relationship." "You hit me too often for us not to have had one."), and Draco's strange on and off flirting (he wasn't so oblivious as not to notice), but by the time they got out of Depravia and to Blaise and Luna's restaurant, he was prepared to kill them or himself.

"Harry – Draco?" Blaise started, blinking rapidly. After the end of the war and their repeated seventh year, Draco had disappeared. Gossip rags around the world had ventured many a guess as to what had happened after Lucius Malfoy committed suicide and Narcissa was made a widow, with no sign of Draco resurfacing. Some had assumed Draco had followed in his father's footsteps to the end; others said he'd just run away. No one had believed he might have simply gone underground.

"Hello, Blaise. I suppose I'm to be scolded for my lack of correspondence and disappearance?"

"...Does your mother know where you were?"

"Yes, Mother was informed to some extent what I intended to do with my life."

"Then I guess I have nothing to say about it. Why only to some extent – Harry, what's that expression for?" Harry coughed and shook his head, brushing past him to get a table. Troy sighed at his behaviour and smiled at Blaise.

"We'll let you two catch up."

"Oh no. We're joining you – I want to know what's wrong with Harry."

"Ask blondie." Draco coughed and looked down, trying not to grin too obviously as Blaise led him inside.

"This is a lovely restaurant – Mother wrote you married Luna Lovegood?"

"Yeah – we run this place together."

"Mm. Domestic felicity."

"...Somehow, I cannot believe you managed to say that with a straight face and no sarcasm."

"I am a man of many talents." Harry groaned and Troy smirked.

"So we've seen." Blaise narrowed his eyes at the trio, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Oh! Draco!" The blonde rose to greet Luna, who glided forward and embraced him enthusiastically.

"How are you?"

"I am well and content, thank you. I see you and Blaise are doing well."

"Yes, yes." She slid into the booth beside Troy, sitting between her and Blaise, leaving Harry at Draco's mercy.

"So, Draco, where have you been?" Harry made a strange noise under his breath and pulled his legs up before Troy could kick him.

"Running my two clubs – Purloined and Depravia." Blaise gaped at him, a highly surprising expression on the wizard's face – he had a habit of showing little emotion if any at all when taken by surprise.

" _Depravia?_ You _run_ Depravia!"

"Mm-hmm."

"...No wonder you went underground."

"Yes, I imagined it would be easier that way, but I've found a reason to come back into the public eye."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I shall keep it to myself until such a time I feel the urge to tell you." Blaise shook his head, smiling.

"Typical. However, that does not explain Harry's disgruntled state." Troy laughed out loud at Harry's attempt at sinking into the floor. Draco smirked at him and gently pulled him back up, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him towards him.

"He objects to my chosen method of greeting him." Harry leaned a bit away.

"That's one way of phrasing it." Luna tilted her head, smiling uncertainly.

"This method being...?"

"After messing around for a bit, he jumped Harry's bones and kissed him." Harry glared at the grinning Troy and the now laughing Blaise while Draco simply ran a few fingers through his hair, smiling fondly. Blaise wiped laughter born tears from his eyes and tried to placate the scowling former Gryffindor.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but that is priceless. The world would have imagined a fight, hexes flying and glass shattering, and he kissed you."

"Can we stop talking about this now? Let go."

"Oh, Harry. It's so adorable though!"

"How is this adorable!" He started when his wand squawked, a sign that Mallory needed his attention. He squirmed out of Draco's hold and slid out of the booth.

"Blaise, can we use your Floo? Malfoy, Troy, and I need to talk to Mallory."

"Feel free. Come back for dinner, though." He sighed and nodded.

"Sure."

* * *

They Floo'd to Grimmauld instead of going straight to the Ministry when Troy pointed out that Draco's sudden appearance would garner unwanted extra attention.

"I'm expecting you not to do anything you know I'll object to while we're gone."

"...Anything I _know_ you'll object to?"

"Damn it, Malfoy-"

"Calm down, handsome. I'll behave. Have fun at work, honey!" He groaned and slammed the door behind him, ignoring Phineas's laughter and Severus's amused farewell.

"Infuriating..."

"Are you sure you were actually genuine rivals? Maybe it was just-"

"If the words sexual tension or frustration leave your mouth, I'm going to hit you."

"I was _going_ to say a childhood crush."

"That's not any better!"

"Stop yelling. I'm right next to you." He continued to mutter all the way to Mallory's office.

"What's wrong with you, Potter?" Troy punched him gently in the arm to get his attention, signaling he needed to stop muttering and answer.

"Just a particularly uncooperative suspect, sir."

"You have a suspect already?"

"I apologise, sir – a person of interest. It's unlikely that he's the killer, but he might have information."

"Ah." The older man handed them more files.

"File your report manually tonight, and look over these new autopsy reports."

"Yes sir."

"Anything else?"

"No sir."

"Dismissed."

"Have a good day, sir." He briefly wondered why that was necessary when they ran into Ron. Literally, in Troy's case.

"Klutz."

"Shut up, alright?" Ron laughed as he helped her up.

"You two seem to be getting along well."

"Better. We're getting along better."

"I disagree – you're still annoying and uncooperative."

"Eh. Hazard of the job." Harry had an epiphany as he watched Ron examine the files he'd picked up.

"Ron, the kids are coming home today, right?"

"Yeah, I'm about to go get them."

"What do you say to dinner at Blaise and Luna's tonight?"

"I'm sure Hermione won't mind. What's the occasion?"

"...None whatsoever. I need your backup."

"...Should I be worried?" Troy snickered at Harry's pained expression.

"Not exactly. Just be there – say, around seven." Ron eyed his friend with concern.

"I'll...see you then." Harry nodded and dragged Troy out after him, muttering about unhelpful partners.

* * *

"Malfoy?"

"He's in the library with Severus." He thanked Phineas tiredly and tried to ignore Troy's humming as he moved towards the library.

"Sev? Malfoy?"

"You know, he seems to have gotten over his problems with you – why not call him by his first name?"

"That implies some sort of familiarity, and I don't want to encourage him."

"I noticed." He stopped and turned to face her.

"Look, Troy. We've only known each other for a few days – about two and a half, to be exact. I know you have strong opinions, and I've noticed you're very intelligent – but this is personal, and I'd really appreciate it if you could just leave it alone. My relationship with Malfoy has never been an easy one, and this is going to be hard enough as it is without having someone breathing down my neck about my immature behaviour – two, if we count Sev, but he's a portrait, so we're not." She met his green eyes squarely, and sighed.

"I get it. I'll leave it alone. I just – I care, Harry. It's weird, I don't get along with people that easily, but from the moment I tripped you outside of the Ministry-"

"Thanks a lot for that by the way." She grinned.

"-From that moment I realised I really like you. I wanted to befriend you, even if I'd only be here for a short while. I consider you a friend, and I have a relatively bad habit of meddling in my friends' lives. So, I know you don't like Draco – I get it, it's practically legend. But I think in the long run, you two are more alike than you'd like to believe. Maybe you'll find a really good friend in him. Could you just try?" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'll try. I don't know what good it'll do, but I'll try." She ruffled his hair, much to his chagrin.

"That's all I'm asking."

"Must you ruffle his hair? It's already bad enough as is." He made a face as Draco appeared behind him and gently smoothed the dark locks as well as he could.

"I'm still at a loss for how your hair does that." He caught the blonde's hand and stepped a bit away from him.

"It's a hopeless endeavour – just leave it alone."

"I have to concur with him Draco; it was terrifying the first and last time Kreacher attempted to tame it."

"Har har har, Sev." The Potions Master smirked at him.

"It is not my fault your house elf is traumatized by his singular failure to do something with your hair." Draco again reached up to card his fingers through it.

"...I bet I could do something to tame it."

"Outside of cutting it off? I bet you couldn't."

"Shall we make it official then?" Troy grinned at Harry's immediate nod. Draco chuckled and pulled his hands away from his hair.

"If I win, you let me stay with you for a month."

"Don't you have your own place?"

"That's not relevant to the bet." Harry narrowed his eyes at the smug smirk hovering at the edge of Draco's mouth.

"Fine. If you can fix my hair before dinner tonight, you can stay." The blonde looked like a cat who had just swallowed a canary.

"Perfect. In that case, I'll go and get my things and see you in an hour or so. We can look over some of the reports then." He bid them a fond farewell and strode out, at which point Severus cleared his throat.

"Harry, I pray you do remember that Draco was my best student in Potions and was quite good at Charms?" He paused and his green eyes widened ever so slightly as Troy began to cackle and fled to avoid his wrath.

" _Damn_ it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot doesn't clarify itself here either. Just FYI.


	5. Fun and Games and Riots, Hey!

Troy disappeared into her room a few hours after Draco arrived, seeing no reason to stay around while they battled Harry's hair.

"Ow!" Harry tried to move away from Draco, who caught his hand and pulled him back to sit in front of him.

"Don't squirm, Harry; this shouldn't hurt at all."

"Really, because it hurts a lot."

"Calm down." The blonde picked up a shimmering vial and poured the contents into a small clay bowl, mixing with one hand and charming the potion with the other. Harry sighed and watched the process through half-lidded eyes.

"Why didn't you go on to get a Potions Mastery?"

"I'm good at the subject, but I'm not that interested in it."

"But sleeping with strangers captured your attention?"

"I don't sleep with my clients as a general rule, Harry. I entertain them and act as a confidant."

"As a general rule?" He added another vial to the mixture and moved it to the side to sit while he produced a pair of scissors and went about trimming the uneven locks.

"There have been a few exceptions."

"The catalyst of these being...?"

"Once it was simple lust, near the beginning of Depravia's founding. The other two times it was to reassure the client."

"...So, three times."

"I'm shocked, you've learned how to count after all these years." He snorted but didn't take offense. Draco had finished cutting and was massaging the mixture from earlier into his scalp – it felt too good to interrupt to fight with him.

"Harry, tilt your head forward." He did as instructed, fighting a yawn.

"You chose the expected route."

"You mean being an Auror? Yeah, but I don't deal with Dark Wizards as a general rule – just the usual potions mishaps, the occasional theft, or, like now, a murder. I've finally gotten the press to leave me alone."

"I'd noticed. I depended on them to find out what you were doing, you know."

"Obsessed much?"

"I always meant to find you and apologise."

"For what?"

"Pretty much everything."

"I've sort of gotten over it. It's a general irritation now." Draco washed the product out of his hair and finished the cut, finger combing the dark hair.

"Do you think you can forgive me?" Harry sighed and looked up at him.

"Troy and Severus have both been on my back about this and I agree I need to get over it – so yeah, I guess. It'll take a while – you're annoying."

"Thanks – I didn't just throw away a few hours of my life fixing your birdnest you called a hairstyle." He laughed and sat up completely, dragging his fingers though it.

"Wow. No snagging."

"Mm-hmm. Towel it dry and give me a minute to find something." He accepted the towel and did as told while Draco rummaged through the black bag he'd brought with him.

"Here." Harry looked up again and blinked.

"...Draco, that's a blow dryer."

"So I'm told, but with a few magical enhancements it does wonders."

"...I'm not going to ask where you got it."

"Good, because I don't really want to explain that one." Harry stretched and settled back in as Draco went about drying his hair completely.

"Now I'm curious."

"Yes, and you're going to have to endure that curiosity, because I'm not telling you." They fell into comfortable silence for another few minutes, when Draco finally shut off the blow dryer and ruffled Harry's hair.

"You can look now." The dark haired wizard stood and stretched, accepting the hand mirror Draco offered him. His hair was essentially just a styled version of the rat's nest he'd tried to tame before, and therefore looked that much better.

"Huh. I guess you're staying for the month." He barely bit back a yelp when Draco's arms slid around his waist and his lips brushed against the nape of his neck.

"I knew I'd win." He shivered and unconsciously reached for Draco's hands, needing something to hold onto. Their fingers twined and warmth surged between them as Draco trailed his mouth down his neck, nuzzling the sensitive flesh.

"Ah..."

"Draco! Harry! We have thirty minutes!" Draco sighed and slowly pulled away from him as the door banged open.

"Oh, hey, it looks good."

"What, it was bad before?"

"You were _almost_ the perfect package, but the hair was holding you back. Now you're pretty much set." Draco chuckled at Troy's eye roll.

"She's right, Harry."

"...Eh. I really couldn't care less as long as it's easy to take care of." Harry dragged his fingers through it again, grinned, and suddenly pulled Draco into a hug. The blonde returned it enthusiastically – maybe too enthusiastically, if Severus's loud cough and Troy's throat clearing was anything to go by. He made a face at them both, earning an eye roll and a smirk, respectively. Now both wizards looked Troy over.

She was wearing a dove gray pant suit with a chocolate brown pinstripe and ribbon accents, a champagne coloured blouse with a waterfall-esque ruffle down the front, a gray fedora, and brown ankle boots with gold accents on the sides.

"See? I clean up good in colours other than black. So there."

"Brown and gray are both neutrals."

"Do I look like a give a fuck?" She stretched, yawning.

"Whatever. Imma get mah cane. Hurry it up." Without another word, she moonwalked out, hat down, humming under her breath.

"...What...was that?"

"...I'm...not sure..." Draco clapped his hands together, shrugging.

"I am not to be outdone, and I cannot be seen with you if you are not up to par. Come along, we have little time and much to do."

* * *

Harry was certain he'd barely escaped with his life, but eventually Draco unearthed (much to Harry's horror) a pair of leather trousers Ginny had given he could have _sworn_ he ordered Kreacher to burn, and coupled it with a blood red silk shirt and black vest he couldn't place and wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Mm...Yummy."

"Stop drooling at me!"

"I can't help it. Kreacher!" The house elf appeared immediately – faster even than he did for Harry, much to his chagrin.

"Did you get it?"

"Kreacher did procure the object the Master Draco asked for."

"Since when is he the Master Draco?"

"...The Master Severus told Kreacher to obey the Master Draco as Kreacher would the Master Harry." Of course... Draco caught his chin and turned his face to him, giving him no time to react as he applied eyeliner with deft hands.

"Oooh. Why don't men wear guyliner and vests together more often?" Draco smirked over his shoulder at Troy.

"Because most men can't pull it off properly. _He_ can." He sighed.

"Now I have to go get ready. We're going to be late, so go lounge." He swept out, giving them no time to argue.

"I like him."

"... _Damn_ it, this is that everlasting stuff!"

"Leave it alone, Harry."

* * *

They finally arrived at the restaurant almost forty five minutes late.

"Don't worry about it, Harry – I knew Draco would take forever."

"Perfection takes time, Italian."

"Yes, well, walk your perfect self over to the table and deal with the in-laws."

"We aren't married and they aren't my in-laws!"

"Sure they aren't." Harry groaned and glared at Troy, who was spinning her cane – topped with a gleaming, snarling ram head – and smirking at him.

"Why aren't you backing me up here?"

"Sorry – I was distracted by Blaise's stroke of genius." He rolled his eyes and handed his trench to the valet who had appeared at his elbow. Troy waved him off after handing over her hat, flashing him a dazzling smile and gliding over to the large table where the Weasleys and Luna were waiting.

"Malfoy!"

"I should hope so – there shouldn't be any other gorgeous blonde men running around out here." And even if there were, none of them other than Draco would be wearing what he was at that moment. Navy blue trousers, lilac shirt, royal blue vest, amethyst and silver cufflinks, and an abstract ear cuff of the same materials. His hair was again pulled back and held in a tail by an engraved silver hair clip, and slung over his shoulder, dangling negligently from one hooked finger that somehow echoed his smirk, was a navy sports coat. Hermione seemed to be having a hard time reconciling his presence, and Ron was so frazzled by Gorman's hyperactive state that he barely noticed.

"Hi, Malfoy. Stop smirking at us and sit down. Gorman!" The twelve year old immediately returned to his own seat, smiling innocently up at his father.

"I'm sorry, Papa." The expression on Ron's face spoke to his skepticism. The twins sat next to George and Neville, each with a book open in front of them.

"Lacy, Patricia, books away." Both books snapped closed and were stowed in unison, before pale blue eyes turned to the newcomers.

"Hello." Troy moved to stand beside Draco and they both flashed dazzling smiles in unison. Harry had a feeling if there had been a mirror in the room, they'd all be blind. He gently pushed Troy forward, ignoring her indignant squeak.

"Stop posing and gleaming at everyone and sit down." Draco slid into the booth first, Harry followed, and Troy sat on the end. Blaise joined his wife at the other end of the booth, and they all settled in as a waiter walked over, trying not to stare too blatantly at Troy, Draco, and Harry.

"Can I take your orders?" Harry let Troy order for him, not really interested in eating.

"So, Malfoy...how have you been?"

"I've been doing quite well. And you? I know you and Hermione got married soon after school."

"Yes – these are our children."

"Gaius – fifth year, Gryffindor."

"Lachesis – call me Lacy. Fourth year, Slytherin."

"Patricia; I'm Lacy's twin. Fourth year, Ravenclaw."

"Gorman, Hufflepuff – I'm twelve!" The smallest child waved shyly from behind Gorman.

"That's Joan – she's ten." Draco smiled at each of them in turn.

"A pleasure to meet you all. Hello, Neville."

"Draco."

"Ah...you and George?"

"Married – yes." Harry grinned.

"He took George's name – too many jokes to be had otherwise."

"Nice to see you're mature."

"You're going to be living with me for a month – deal with it." Ron looked up in surprise from trying to distract the ever curious Hufflepuff.

"Really?"

"Yeah – I bet he couldn't fix my hair. Voila."

"It does look good."

"I _am_ a genius." Troy snorted and turned the conversation to the Hogwarts students.

"How was Hogwarts?" Lacy stretched and smirked even as Gaius groaned.

"Mmm. We won the House Cup, as it should be."

"We were so close, too..." Patricia giggled at her brother's mock miserable face.

"Gaius, you know no one other than Uncle Harry can beat Lacy at flying."

"Lacy, you're...?"

"The Slytherin Seeker." Draco grinned fiendishly.

"It's about time we got the Cup back." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Please. You should have given up after that first loss." The bickering continued on this tangent for some time, and Troy began to learn just how shocking their school years really were.

"You know, maybe breaking the rules did us some good." Gorman shot to his feet, pointing accusingly at Ron, grinning.

"Ha HA! SEE! EVEN UNCLE HARRY SAYS BREAKING THE RULES IS OKAY!" Ron groaned and Harry winced.

"Um, not exactly-"

"There are times when the rules need to be broken, but as a general rule, Harry is the only exception." Gorman paused and narrowed his eyes.

"I challenge that."

"Harry had to break the rules to prevent an evil Dark Lord from taking over the world."

"And keep him from killing him."

"Not nearly as important."

"Hey!"

"Shush. As I was saying, most of the time he got off lightly, but when he did break to rules, it was very dangerous. It is better advised that you only break the small rules, and if you do, don't get caught."

"Draco..."

"What?" Lacy giggled.

"Malfoy is right, Gorman. Just don't get caught and be careful." Ron sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Just...listen to your brother and stay out of trouble, Gorman." The twelve year old flopped back into his seat, pouting a bit. The adults returned to their reminiscing until the food arrived, at which point they broke out of their little world and began to notice the rest of the restaurant's patrons.

That is, Harry noticed the rest of the restaurant's patrons. Most of them were staring longingly at Draco and Troy, who continued to talk and laugh as if they didn't notice. He was used to being the center of attention – which he was, but he managed not to notice – and the sensation of being overlooked was an odd one. However, this meant less to him than the sharp spire of irritation at the salivating masses' subjects of lust. Troy was a friend – quickly become a close friend – and Draco...Draco was something he wasn't yet able to identify. He was playful and arrogant – he was his ex-rival and new informant. He was gorgeous. Harry blinked at that thought. He knew he was gay – it had taken a few years to sink in, but he knew it, nonetheless. However, this was Draco Malfoy, the subject of fantasies around the world. The thought of being attracted to him could not stand against the knowledge that they had once hated each other and obscure it. He held onto grudges too well for that. He again took in the hungry stares and sighed. There was the self pity, the crumbling confidence replaced by the certainty of insignificance.

Troy noticed the sigh and the strange change in Harry's mood moments after she noticed the stares. She met Draco's eyes and confirmed that he'd noticed to, and smirked a bit, nodding towards the rest of the room. A mischievous glint appeared in those silver eyes, and he stretched, slowly and languorously, before draping himself over Harry, dropping a kiss on top of his ear. Harry started, blinking in confusion as Troy slid her arms around his waist and batted her eyes at him.

"Um – guys? What's going on?" Troy giggled as if in response to a joke as Draco slowly ran his fingers through Harry's hair, sliding them down his neck and then trailing them over his jaw. Blaise watched in amusement even as he heard the collective sharp intake of breath from the other patrons. Ron was again dealing with Gorman and now Joan, and therefore didn't notice – Neville, George, and the twin girls were smirking. Gaius and Hermione gauged the now swooning patrons and coughed politely to signal them to end their little play. Draco yawned and brushed a light kiss across Harry's mouth – a fleeting, sweet touch of the lips – before he and Troy pulled away a bit, and turned triumphant, smug, unbelievably brilliant smiles at the other patrons.

"Well played, both of you. Very well played." Harry stared at them in bemusement even as Luna clapped lightly. Draco yawned and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Don't worry about it, Harry." He stared at the blonde and shook his head.

"Sure..."

The rest of the evening was blessedly uneventful, and as soon as Harry had this thought, the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as an ear piercing squeal pierced the calm air.

"Oh my _god._ It's Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter!" Troy noted her partner's pale face and Draco's irritation and sighed.

"Run?"

"Oh _shit_." Everyone gaped at Hermione as she began to gather their things.

"Ron, get the children – I'm sorry, but the _last_ time we were in public and your fangirls showed up, it took us over three hours to get to our destination five minutes away." Draco paused as he noticed how many women were trying to get into the restaurant.

"...I can see this is going to be a problem."

"How are you so calm?"

"...No one's threatening me?"

" _Death Eater!_ "

"Close enough. We should leave. Thanks for inviting us, Blaise, Luna-" The sound of shattering glass and screaming of the terrified variety mingled with blaring alarms to cut him off. Troy immediately forced the children to follow their parents out the back, stepping out from the booth, grim.

"You know, I had _hoped_ that after twenty years, this wouldn't be a problem."

"Considering what happened, that was naïve of you." Draco moved for his wand when Harry caught his wrist.

"Don't. You pull a wand, they assume you mean to attack. We need to move out of the building and get you to a secure location." Troy picked up her cane, hefting it almost absently.

"Badges out?"

"Let's. Blaise, Luna, get Draco to Grimmauld." He sighed as he produced credentials and pulled out his badge, heading into the fray.

* * *

The riot had exploded with the words Death Eater – the entire street was in chaos, and there was no small amount of people trying to get into the restaurant. Harry saw the riot police first and signaled them, sending a blast of red light over the mob. As if a signal to both sides, everyone suddenly turned and swarmed him, a roaring, single minded and yet mindless form with no clear goal in mind. Harry had never before been more glad of his horrific seventh year. The sound of people yelping and crying out in pain from behind him brought his attention to Troy, who was soundly trouncing anyone who came within five feet of her, pushing through the crowd to Harry.

" _Damn_ it! I have decided if a fangirl of your's comes anywhere near me, I might commit homicide."

"It's not really their fault-"

"They pointed out Draco for the fucking world!" She flipped another attacker over her shoulder and forced another to his knees with the cane, before binding him and kicking him to the side.

"Overkill."

"What the fuck ever." They continued through the riot, following Troy's example of disarming/incapacitating and binding, until Hermione and Joan's twin screams brought them back to the restaurant. Someone was trying their hardest to run off with the youngest Weasley child, and Hermione was on the other side of the room, unable to reach her. How the child had been separated from her mother, Harry didn't know, but he knew they weren't any closer, when the man suddenly collapsed and Draco seemed to materialise out of thin air, catching the terrified child and moving back towards Hermione while Neville and George kept everyone away from him. As if the child's terror brought everyone to their senses, the riot, so abrupt, ebbed, ending a mere ten minutes after it began. Harry stumbled over to the riot police's captain, wincing as cuts and bruises previously overlooked twinged and cackled at him.

"Auror Potter, do you need a Healer?"

"No, but could you send one over to the Weasleys? I need to be sure their daughter is okay."

"Immediately sir." A sharp command, a group of people weaving through the crowd.

"Sir, Auror Mallory requests you come to his office immediately with Mr. Malfoy." Harry sighed and nodded.

"Understood. Carry on." Twin salutes and he was trudging back to the restaurant, cursing fame and Voldemort's single minded destruction of hundreds of people's reputations. Troy was already there, trying to get Draco to hold still while she scanned him for wounds.

"I'm _fine_. This was a ten minute riot, not the final battle at Hogwarts!"

"They aren't comparable, but you still could have gotten badly hurt. Do you or do you not feel the cut above your eye?"

"It's not that bad."

"The black eye I'm about to give you will be." The blonde huffed and settled back down, only to move again when he saw Harry, resulting in being hit in the ribs with Troy's cane.

" _Ow._ "

"Sit still!" Harry waved as he collapsed next to them.

"Joan?"

"She's fine, but she'll probably have a terror of crowds after this." Harry dropped his head into his hands.

"Damn it..."

"If you blame yourself, you're getting a cane upside the head."

"She catches on fast."

"Shut up, Draco." He let Troy carry out a similar examination on him.

"We have to go see Mallory – all of us."

"Great. The man hears news faster than my boss, that's for sure." Draco snorted but held his tongue at Harry's raised eyebrow. Troy finished her examination and subsequent healings, holstering her wand.

"Let's go."

* * *

They found Mallory in the lobby, listening to an aide read out a report.

"Good job, Deitric. Tell Captain Wellington and then report to St. Mungo's. Dismissed." He folded his arms as the three joined him.

"You three don't look like you just left a riot."

"Draco probably charmed our clothing sir."

"My clothing's always charmed – too many people dislike the President."

"I have a habit of looking immaculate, and I've yet to break it." The Auror shook his head.

"Mr. Malfoy, where exactly have you been?"

"Auror Mallory, I have a hard time believing you don't know." The Auror paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"...I may or may not have had an idea as to where you were."

"Look, can we cut the crap? Are we here because of the riot?" Mallory raised an eyebrow at Harry's outburst.

"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have assigned Magus Del Toro to you. No, you aren't not here technically due to the riot. Another murder occurred, and according to the medical examiner's findings, it occurred during the riot."

"...Shit." Troy sighed.

"It's all fun and games until someone gets their head chopped off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I drank, I'd swear I was drunk when I wrote this.


	6. Boys Will Be Boys

Harry yawned and closed another suspect file, jotting down yet another note on the growing pile of parchment beside him. Draco was sprawled on his bed, reading over on of the victim's files, while Troy sketched up her understanding of the killer's profile.

"Yeah, I'm gonna say this is one guy. One really scary guy."

"Could be a woman."

"Doesn't really seem like it, but I won't rule it out."

"Harry, so far there's almost no connection between these victims and Depravia. I can tell you that I know five out of the thirty, and only three of them ever came to Depravia. Of those three, two also came to Purloined." He sighed.

"So we can probably agree that he didn't find them through Depravia." Draco sighed.

"I didn't say that, Harry. I believe that several of these people knew one another, and those few I know came to Depravia were very adamant that they didn't mind people knowing about it." Harry turned a bit in his seat.

"So you think they talked?"

"Yes, but I have no idea how this has anything to do with the murders. If they were just targeting people who came to Depravia, I'd know by now." Troy scribbled another note and blew a lock of her hair out of her face.

"Look, guys; Harry, you were right to have that tooth and bite mark checked out. No dental records, but the tooth matches the bite mark to a tee. The M.E. offered a disturbing idea as to why that might be."

"Oh? How disturbing?"

"Like, he's eating their flesh disturbing." Pin drop moment.

"He's _eating_ their flesh."

"Exactly. He thinks that's why we never find their heads – he's taking them as trophies and eating what he can of them." Draco's face had gone several shades paler and Harry felt dizzy. Troy closed the file with slightly trembling hands and sat down slowly.

"Um...Harry, this is going to sound strange, but you remember what I said at Depravia?"

"...You said a lot at Depravia."

"I mean, when I was talking about anyone who can whisper with serpents is well off."

"Yeah – I thought the term sounded familiar." Draco swore.

"It should – damn it, why didn't I remember that?" Harry stared at him as he sat up.

"It's something Blaise used to talk about when he was writing you; an old tablet was found in Egypt, and the markings weren't hieroglyphs or cuneiform. A few weeks later, they found five more tablets, in North and South America, as well as India – three in India, one in each of the Americas. They all had the same markings. They eventually deciphered them, and they read the same each time. 'Fortune to those who whisper with serpents; the sun guides you. Beware the mad wolves who feast on our flesh – the moon will devour you.' They figured out it was referring to two races previously thought to have died out. One other race from this time is thought to have survived – the starred race."

"They are often represented by rams or bulls. These people left India, moved through Egypt, and eventually made their way to the Americas. The three races formed one empire, usually referred to as the Pillar of Heaven." Harry blinked, mind racing back to their repeated seventh year. In History of Magic, they'd had one class that had captured everyone's attention, thought why, he wasn't sure. Binns had drawn a pillar with a sun at the top, a moon beneath it, slightly overlapping, and stars ringing the bottom. Around this was a circle formed of a serpent chasing a ram chasing a wolf who was chasing the serpent.

"This is the symbol of the ancient Pillar of Heaven empire. They were once a mighty empire, but they disintegrated when the serpent whisperers – precursors to our Parselmouths – took control and the wolf seers attempted to overthrow them. The starred race chose to support the serpent whisperers, and the wolf seers needed a way to fight both factions. They prayed to their dread moon god, and were granted incredible power – at the price of having to devour living flesh to survive. The more powerful the creature – say, a human versus a pig – the more likely you'd be able to survive."

"It is a common misconception that eating living flesh gave them the powers, when they were in fact granted by the moon god." The class had continued on this tangent, eventually returning to its usual dry state, but that information had stuck in his mind.

"If we are dealing with a Pillar of Heaven fanatic, this could be worse than we thought. It was thought that when the empire declared war, they'd cut their enemies' heads off in battle, something they never did normally." Harry swore under his breath.

"Then this murderer could in fact be declaring war on the Wizarding World at large?" Troy swallowed and nodded.

"We can't tell anyone yet."

"Why not!"

"We don't _know,_ Harry! If we go into this thinking one thing when it is in fact something else entirely, someone could get hurt – we might get the wrong person and the murders will continue regardless." Draco got up and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders.

"It's late, and if we keep gnawing at this, we'll just exhaust ourselves further. I need to speak with my mother – if there's anyone who can help us find a connection between all these people, it will be her." He nodded tiredly and slipped Draco's arms off his shoulders.

"I'll see you both in the morning then. Have a good night." Troy gathered the files and notes and left quickly. Draco lingered.

"Are you sure you're alright with me staying?" Harry smiled.

"Yes, Draco, I'm sure. Go get your beauty sleep, narcissist."

"I am not!"

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

The next morning was spent pouring over more files and researching the Pillar of Heaven. One fruitless lead after another brought Draco downstairs upon hearing things breaking.

"He really needs to learn to control his temper." He looked over to see Troy stumbling out of her own room, yawning, brush hanging limply from one hand. He slowly took in her appearance and realised why she seemed so off.

"Your hair is longer." She made a face, nodding a bit.

"I usually use a charm to keep it from growing to cut down on the expense of getting it trimmed regularly – the charm wore off, and every time it does, all the delayed growth happens at once. In this case, it literally happened overnight." She blew some of the feathery locks out of her face, wrinkling her nose.

"I need to cut it and redo the charm."

"Or you could just let me do it-"

"You two! Draco, your mother just gave me a heart attack, _go talk to her_." He eyed the frazzled brunette in surprise, wondering if that was perhaps the real cause of the noise he'd heard earlier.

"Of course. Go brush your hair." Troy snickered at Harry's disgruntled expression and subsequent rude invitation, which Draco politely ignored to descend the stairs and speak with his mother.

* * *

Kreacher apparently still recognised Narcissa was one of his masters – or rather, mistresses – and had allowed her into the house without a word. Her following ambush of the house's current master gave her a moment's amusement, but she was slightly surprised that he – relatively quickly – recovered and offered to send her son down, after ordering Kreacher to see to her wants. Pleasant surprise still hummed through her after she greeted Severus and Phineas's portraits and followed the ancient house elf to the dining room, where her son waited.

"Mother." She moved forward to take his hands, smiling hesitantly.

"It's been a long time, Draco." He met her silver eyes sadly, noticing the flicker of pain as she said those words, and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder, allowing himself to lose composure for that moment, just long enough to assure them both that things could be fixed. Narcissa held onto her son tightly, nuzzling her hair gently.

"My little one...where have you strayed? Why did you leave without a word?" He shivered a bit, shaking his head as well as he could while pressed against her.

"I...I need time-"

"Twenty years was not time enough?" Draco pulled back at the barely hidden anguish in her voice and stared at her. Age did not often touch his family – if it did, belatedly. Now, however, he saw those fine wrinkles framing her eyes and mouth, noticed the heaviness in the air around her. As if sensing he understood, she let go of him and stepped back, smiling sadly.

"I should not berate you. There is time now to catch up. First, tell me – why are you staying in Harry Potter's home? Admittedly, this is a Black property, but it is nevertheless his." He flushed, grinning.

"Ah – he came to me seeking information regarding a case he is working on, and an ill-fated bet – that is, for him – gave me the month here. I suppose I craved constant contact with someone other than my employees." Narcissa raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at that. She knew very little about his businesses – only that he owned two clubs that he worked in exclusively, while he managed all other businesses from afar. He'd stopped answering her letters after three years, and disappeared from her life completely afterward.

"Odd that you would choose him."

"Perhaps not, Cissa. The boys were constantly near one another at school, though they were usually hitting or cursing the other in the process." She smiled at Severus, who settled into yet another empty frame. Harry had them littered throughout the house, all empty save for a few portraits in the library and attic who rarely ventured from their frames anyway.

"Mm...this is true." Draco quickly covered his irritated glare directed at Severus and endured another, more spontaneous embrace from his mother.

"You have just risen?"

"Yes – we were up late last night looking at the case files."

"Perhaps, then, you would all join me for brunch? We do not have to discuss the case – I imagine it is against Ministry protocols."

"It is – but I don't really care. Draco mentioned you might be able to help us." She turned and smiled at her host and nodded to Troy, who waved.

"Lady Del Toro – I did not realise you had joined the ranks of the Magi."

"Yeah – I got tired of being the pinnacle of the 'new elite' and donated the majority of my personal wealth before entering the program."

"Your father?"

"He is well, as far as I know – he often spoke fondly of you and the Zabinis. It's been a while since we've talked, though." Narcissa nodded again in understanding and dropped the subject, returning to her original invitation.

"Well then – brunch it is? You need only join me at the Manor when you are ready." Harry nodded, covering a yawn and dodging an elbow from Troy. Draco smirked at his tired friend.

"We'll join you in a few minutes then."

"Translation: In an hour or so, after Draco's fully dealt with Harry's fashion ineptness, we'll join you." Harry shooed Troy away sleepily, ignoring the crack about his inability to dress himself, and waved at Narcissa, before padding back upstairs. Troy rolled her eyes.

"I'll help him. We'll see you soon, Narcissa. You have exactly thirty minutes to get ready, Draco, or we're leaving you." The blonde stared at her in what could be interpreted at horror, shooed her out, and hugged his mother again.

"Like she said – we'll see you soon." She chuckled, nuzzling him gently.

"Of course, dear."

* * *

Harry managed to dodge Draco's neurotic attack on his wardrobe, escaping in his usual comfortable jeans, long sleeve cotton shirt (Draco sniffed at this but let it pass – something about Egyptian cotton versus American), and a worn leather jacket of his godfather's. Troy was alarmingly prim and proper; hair twisted into a chignon at the back of her neck, held in place by a gleaming clip, wearing a wool bourbon pencil skirt, sheer hose, royal purple heels, a cream blouse, and a matching wool jacket in bourbon with black piping. Draco, shockingly, spent less time on his appearance than Troy did on hers; he opted for wool slacks and a cashmere sweater, in an emerald green (which resulted in a brief House ribbing between him and Harry while Troy looked on, shaking her head), and pulled his hair back into a sleek ponytail before attempting to raid Harry's closet again. Kreacher eventually shooed them to the Floo, having kept track of the time while they bickered at Harry's request.

"I don't know when we'll be back – we'll try to get here in time for dinner." The house elf shrugged and went about his meticulous cleaning of the already mostly sparkling house, ignoring any further comment from his master. Rolling his eyes at Kreacher's antics, he followed the other two through the Floo to the Manor.

They were met by a house elf and led into the parlor, where Narcissa met them and repeated her greetings, this time without fraying Harry's (according to Troy) tenuous grip on sanity.

"I hope you do not mind my dropping in so suddenly, Harry."

"...Just...don't shatter my nerves next time, and I won't react so violently." She chuckled.

"I honestly expected you to react much more hostilely."

"I know Kreacher well enough to know he wouldn't let anyone into the house who might harm me." Narcissa smiled gently as she watched him shift away from a large vase, apparently uncertain as to whether or not he could brush it without breaking it.

"You certainly have gained his loyalty," she replied, her smile widening as Draco impatiently pulled Harry to his side, passing the vase without mishap.

"Now...I must ask, Draco; what exactly is your role in this investigation. I cannot see why you would not tell me what you've been doing for so long if you were merely a part of the Ministry." Draco chuckled at her disdainful tone.

"I am an informant only – technically, I don't believe Harry should have given me details of the case at all, but being that he is Harry-"

"-and has a disregard for the law in particular and rules in general that is astounding for an Auror-" cut in Troy.

"-I don't think anyone will really complain," Draco finished, smirking at Harry's irritated expression.

"Harry, come now, you know it's true."

"But it's not that bad!" Both Troy and Draco stopped to level steady gazes on the blushing Auror, who shooed them off, blushing all the harder, and sped up to catch up to Narcissa. The Malfoy matriarch shook her head at the younger trio's behaviour.

"I suppose I cannot gain new information as to your whereabouts these last few years – I know when something is an exercise in futility. Given Harry's apparent disregard for rules, perhaps I might be given some information as to this case. The press has, surprisingly, run very little on it." Harry chuckled icily, startling the blonde woman.

"I have a rather infamous dislike of the press, and once knowledge about my involvement in the case was circulated, the press was warned to print as little information as possible. I believe Mallory was afraid I might hex someone." Narcissa eyed his smirk speculatively.

"Timothy? Well, yes, the man has an uncanny sense when it comes to those he supervises. A pity he chose the Ministry over more lucrative ventures." She led them into a small dining room, obviously meant for the family's private meals as opposed to entertaining. Draco felt a small clenching in his heart at the sight of the empty head of the table and quickly shoved it away, but his mind could not help but dwell on how lonely his mother must have been without him there. She didn't have anyone here anymore – the majority of her family had passed away or disappeared, and the few she was close to in quick succession. He winced as guilt twisted around his heart, when a warm touch brought his mind back to the present. He met Harry's green eyes and grinned weakly, shaking his head ever so slightly. The Auror squeezed his hand gently and let go, following a newly appeared house elf to his seat to the right of the head of the table. Draco reluctantly took the seat at the head of the table, while Narcissa sat at his left and Troy collapsed beside Harry, her graceless motions at odds with her crisp appearance.

"Narcissa, are you certain you want to talk about this over brunch?"

"My dear, I lived during the Dark Lord's reign and at once point shared my home with him. There is very little that I cannot stomach." Troy sighed.

"I know it seems wrong, but I can't help but wish I'd lived here during those years. You all had to endure some of the worst things ever. I feel...insignificant in comparison." Narcissa shook her head.

"You should not. While the Dark Lord was...unique in his cruelty, the Temperance League is nothing to simply overlook." Harry started, eyes widening some.

"The Temperance League?" The Temperance League was what some called the North American predecessor to Voldemort's Death Eaters. They had followed a woman named Lucrezia Mason, who was said to be the most ruthless woman in the United States for some time. Her reign of terror was very centered on the southern and western states, but her infamy was widespread. She was eventually killed by Magi who infiltrated the League around the time Voldemort was rising in power in the Old World. Troy fiddled with the table cloth, mouth set in a scowl.

"My father's name is Malachai Del Toro; he was Lucrezia Mason's lover before he met my mother, Bernadette Green. He is what most people term as Dark; I know for a fact he would have supported Voldemort had we lived here. My mother's family is Light; after the fall of the League of Temperance, my father chose to send me to my mother's mother, saying I was too much like them to live with him. I never heard from him again, and on my eleventh birthday I found out my mother had been murdered. People generally assume my father did it. I could have pretended otherwise if he hadn't purportedly tried to resurrect the League. They had a short run during the time I was eleven, and finally collapsed again around my fourteenth birthday. According to my grandmother, it was their worst, most vicious run. They didn't bother killing Muggleborn witches and wizards; they entered Muggle Washington D.C. and killed a large group of Senators, soldiers, and civilians before disappearing back into the Wizarding World and slaughtering anyone they crossed who disagreed with them." She crossed her arms and leaned back, eyes narrowed.

"I only lived with him for about five years, and throughout that time I sat through his pureblood supremacy rants, I listened to him reminisce about the League's hayday, and I endured his constant attempts to turn me into a pureblood supremacist just like him. I don't know where he is now, but after the League attacked my school and killed three of my friends and one of my teachers, I knew I wouldn't ever be like him. No, I didn't intend on joining the Magi, but that's how things turned out, and I can't say I regret it." Harry noticed her clenched jaw and pulled her into an abrupt one armed hug, startling her.

"Well, I'm glad you did choose to become a Magus – I don't know if I could handle Draco without you." The American laughed, burying her face in his shoulder when she started to become hysterical, and stayed in his hold until she had recomposed herself. Narcissa watched the interaction almost sadly, her hand straying to Draco's.

"You've endured your own personal hardship, and it has made you stronger." Troy chuckled weakly, nodding.

"That, however, doesn't really deal with this case, does it? We're not even dealing with a Death Eater wannabe. He's targeted purebloods, Muggleborn, even magical creatures – we can't track him through victimology so far, except with the possible connection of Draco's clubs. The only thing that's stayed consistent is the beheading and the possibility of him eating them – or rather, their flesh." Narcissa's expression conveyed horror as her words could not. Troy grimaced.

"Yeah, that's why I asked – food!" Harry snorted at her singlemindedness.

"You're worse than Weasley was at school, Troy."

"He's right, Troy – and don't rag on Ron, you had Crabbe and Goyle." Draco grimaced as well, holding his hands up to acknowledge Harry's point.

"Yes, well. That is neither here nor there. Mother, we have discovered one other possible link, regarding the Pillar of Heaven empire." Narcissa tapped the table lightly, moving ever so slightly to allow a house elf to levitate something onto the table.

"Odd. That's a very obscure reference, dear. That should narrow it down quite a bit, as only some few know much about the subject – the majority of them being in North America." Troy nodded.

"I contacted my boss last night, and he says he's looking into it, but we shouldn't rule out that it could be someone here." The older woman continued to tap, eyes flitting over the food as it arrived.

"Yes...very odd. I do not have great knowledge of the subject, but I do know those who do, and what they have told me does not bode well if you have a Pillar of Heaven fanatic. The Dark Lord did briefly look into their teachings, but he saw as many others do not that the power he might like to gain from them came at a great price, and could not be gained without great faith. The act of beheading a victim, in that particular culture, is a declaration of war, as I imagine you know. However, less known is the fact that all of those who were beheaded endured rigorous rituals at the hands of their killers, and they always had marks left on them – the mark of the starred race, as a general rule."

* * *

Harry listened to Troy explain more findings to Narcissa and Narcissa's theories and additional information, stomach falling with each new note.

"Harry, was there anything of note in the crime scenes?" He shook his head.

"Not really; they were varied and seemed almost like crimes of opportunity at first. One happened in a garden, twenty five in the victims' homes, seventeen in their place of work, three on the street, one in a library."

"A library?"

"Yeah, the first one we know of was in a library in India. The time line after that is skewed; once a month, one every day for a week, a couple in one day – which is why we think these could be opportunity killings. The question remaining is why." Narcissa shook her head, eyes glowing with disgust.

"And who – who would do something like this? Life is nothing to waste, and to steal it from anyone..." She sighed.

"We are getting nowhere. Please, eat. These discussions can be continued elsewhere."

* * *

Draco was slightly surprised when neither Troy nor Harry brought up the case again when they finished eating; instead, Narcissa and Troy left to discuss – in Troy's everlasting words of wisdom – chick stuff, leaving him alone with Harry. The brunette was apparently at a loss for what to do, so he opted for the tried and true tactic; stare at your feet while shuffling them and mutter.

"What was that, Harry?" Draco smirked as the shuffling intensified.

"We can always look in the library for information about the Pillar of Heaven, if you'd like." Green eyes met silver and a small, weak grin materialized.

"That would be good." Draco snorted and sashayed out, ignoring Harry's mutter of, "Bloody femme...", smirking all the while. He led the other man down the hall and up several flights of stairs, resulting in a few complaints from Harry ("What the hell is with all the _stairs_?" "At least they aren't moving."), before he led him into the Malfoys' enormous library.

~ _A brother in voice.~_ Oh, deja vu, why?

 _~Hi.~_ The source of the voices this time (and oh, was he scared that he could say that) was carvings that adorned the bookshelves and furniture throughout the cavernous room. Draco paused and listened to Harry greet the gathered snakes, flushing a bit at the hissing syllables.

_Mm...So unbelievably sexy...and it's not just because it's him, though that makes it that much better..._

"Draco?" Harry waved a hand in front of the blonde's face. Draco caught his wrist and nuzzled his palm, ignoring Harry's indignant squeak of surprise.

"Hmm?" Harry reclaimed his hand, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Your eyes weren't focused and were sort of glazed."

"Were they? I'm sorry, Harry." He cupped his face and brushed a playful kiss across the bridge of his nose.

"I'll do better to pay attention next time. Ancient civilizations are this way." Harry touched his nose and stared after him quizzically, shook his head, and followed him, muttering about insane blondes the entire time.

They hadn't gotten very far in their research – which was already hindered by Draco's insistence that yes, he needed to sit as close to an uncomfortable Harry as possible, and occasionally nip him for good measure – when Harry came upon one of the few curses lingering in the older part of the library. It was fairly harmless, if recognised, which Harry did; an acid was discharged from the book he'd opened, and covered his shirt. Draco almost panicked upon realising he's triggered it, only to be distracted by Harry peeling the smoking fabric off and rolling it into a ball, ignoring him to toss it in one of the two fireplaces and incinerate it.

"Damn it. Draco – Draco?" He rolled his eyes at the hungry gaze being leveled on him and snapped his fingers in front of the other man's nose, startling him.

"Draco, I need a shirt." He'd barely finished the sentence before the salacious grin spread across the blonde's face.

" _Draco_."

"Yes, Harry?", he purred back, rising and wrapping his arms around his waist, fluttering his eyelashes.

"Don't do that – just get me a shirt." The shorter man trailed his fingers over his stomach, smiling at the sensation of his muscles rippling under his touch.

"What do I get out of this?" Harry sighed, frustrated, and caught his jaw, pulling him forward and breathing against his mouth.

"Ask me again." The blonde's hands fell to his waist and curled into his waistband.

"What...do I...get out of this?" The brunette's lips whispered over Draco's ear and he stifled a pleasured gasp, leaning into his body.

 _~Satisfaction.~_ He didn't get a chance to ask for a translation – any question was cut off by the warm, deep kiss. Harry pinned the shorter man to the wall, savouring the sensation of Draco's hips rolling against him, and the feel of his hands tightening on his hips. He pulled back and rested his forehead against the blonde's, panting slightly.

"Now go get me a shirt."

* * *

Troy and Narcissa had spent a short amount of time catching up, when Narcissa finally asked.

"Can you tell me what Draco's been doing?" The younger woman sighed.

"Cissa, he didn't tell you because he isn't sure you will approve – perhaps moreso, he _knows_ you will disapprove. I believe...I believe if he and Harry become closer, maybe then he will tell you, but until then, I cannot betray his trust." The blonde woman sighed unhappily, one hand moving to fiddle with her marriage band.

"Your words are unsettling – tell me, is he at least safe?"

"Yes, Cissa, he is safe. Even if he were not, he is capable. You needn't worry about him." The Malfoy matriarch seemed a bit miffed by her words, and Troy hastened to elaborate.

"It is a mother's right and even duty to worry about her children, but you raised him well. He can protect himself." Placated, Narcissa nodded and rose.

"Wait here, for a moment. I already had some thing sent to Grimmauld for you – I have had no woman to dote upon since Pansy left for Bulgaria after marrying Viktor Krum, and Draco does not easily befriend anyone. However, a few things in particular I did not want to trust to house elves." The American woman nodded, eyes wandering over the sitting room. The Malfoys, like the Blacks, were old pureblood families, old wealth that offered a sense of veneration and power that permeated everything in the room. Her own family was technically an old pureblood family as well – the Greens had married into power they could barely fathom. After the collapse of the Roman Empire in both the East and the West, the Del Toros had opted to consolidate their power, backing what later became the royal families of England, Spain, and France, where they settled, leaving Italy behind for good. Malachai Del Toro's great great grandfather sailed to America among the Muggles – much to his distaste – and married into the Seminole tribe, who had their own magic users. The Del Toros became the wealthiest Americans in the wizarding community, and lived primarily on old Seminole land they'd fought hard to keep.

She'd been raised on that land, before moving to New York to live with her grandmother. After getting through school, she'd briefly moved back to Florida, before entering the Magus program. It was there that she realised she needed a change, more than just becoming her father's antithesis; she needed to change herself. She'd been a quiet, bookish witch with a dislike for combat and a skittish demeanor that earned her the nickname Italian Rabbit. The name had irritated her to no end, sticking in her craw and teasing her mercilessly during combat simulations. There was no end to that nagging dislike, and she finally took the step to change when her fiance abruptly ended their engagement, entering a new one literally a day later with her partner. The partnership ended bitterly, and Troy fell off the grid, resurfacing literally in time to save the day when she destroyed the final cell of the Temperance League, saving the President – one of the few Muggle leaders to know about their magical counterparts – in the process. By then, she'd become the Troy Harry knew so well – loud, obnoxious, occasionally belligerent, and fiercely loyal. Much to her horror, she'd learned only last night that her ex-fiance was being assigned to London as well – and because he was, she had an obligation to brief him. _That_ would go over well.

"Troy?" She snapped out of her musings, rising when Narcissa entered the room, carrying two small boxes and-

"A cane?" Narcissa smiled weakly, trailing her fingers over the snarling snake head.

"It was Lucius's," she said softly, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"I didn't get rid of any of his things when he left us – foolish sentimentality. He would have scolded me for it." She laughed bitterly, placing the two boxes on the small table and pressed the can into Troy's hands.

"I want you to have it. Lucius was fond of Malachai, but he was always worried he'd never see him again. He stopped writing after you were born, and Lucius, for all his pureblood supremacist ways, was horrified by the path they both ended up taking. I feel he would have regarded you as his god daughter, at least. He would not mind you having this." Troy closed her fingers around the dark wood, smiling weakly at the irony.

"My father gave me a cane like this, with a-"

"Ram head?" She nodded, smile fading.

"They were both quite fascinated by the Pillar of Heaven..." Both women nodded to one another in understanding.

"These are for you and Harry. Draco has a similar one. I had them made in the event I had more children, but I am not cut out as those such as Molly Weasley are for childbirth. I envy her that happy chaos." Troy flushed, uncomfortable.

"Cissa..." The blonde shook her head.

"Ignore my bitter ramblings, dear, and let us find the boys. I can only imagine what they're doing."

* * *

Both women were pleasantly surprised to find Harry seated on the floor between the fireplaces, books surrounding him in an arc, an enchanted quill rapidly jotting notes as he dictated them, writing with his other hand at the same time. Draco was less haphazard, but was otherwise similarly engaged, sitting back to back with Harry, examining more of the case files.

"Well. I had feared leaving you two alone might be dangerous for my home, but I can see I was mistaken." Harry started and barely stopped himself from knocking over an inkwell, muttering under his breath. Draco yawned and stretched, leaning back again Harry.

"We've been perfectly well behaved, Mother. You can expect some maturity from me, at least."

"Very funny, Ferret." Troy vanished the inkwell in the nick of time before Draco and Harry were engaged in a wrestling match – or perhaps tickle fight? - until Narcissa cleared her throat and shot a jet of water at the two. Harry shot away from Draco and shook his hair out, startled, eyeing the Malfoy matriarch warily. Draco stared at her, aghast.

"My _hair!_ " Harry began to laugh hysterically, dodging two more jets of water from Draco in the process. Troy shook her head.

"Some things will never change, apparently."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uninspired title is uninspired~. There are so many things wrong with Harry's process, guys. SO MANY THINGS.


	7. Grayson. Elliot Grayson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse of descriptions of gore.

The rain was pouring, as if someone was pouring buckets from heaven, one after the other, in such quick succession there was no pause. Harry stared up at the downpour with distaste, shook his head, and returned his attention to the scene before him, under a rudimentary pavilion.

There was no doubt that this was the worst scene so far. The killer was escalating, to say the least. The body was hacked into multiple pieces – they hadn't even bothered to take the head, though they had yet to find the man's genitals. Blood covered everything in sight, and every now and then one would come across a cleanly pulled off fingernail or a tooth. A gleaming dagger with an ivory hilt was buried in the man's chest – a single drop of blood clung to the pommel. How it had remained so clean in the carnage, Harry wasn't sure – he couldn't say he really cared either.

"Are we sure this is the same guy?" Troy folded her arms, eyes narrowed.

"They found a note. It's coming through processing now." She nodded to a tall woman carrying a gleaming box. She set it down beside them and nodded before returning to the crime scene, tweezers appearing in one hand while a bag appeared in the other. Harry picked up the clear bag that contained the note. The limp, damp piece of parchment seemed to ooze disapproval and impatience.

' _Auror Potter,_

_I am severely disappointed in you. I had thought by now, you'd have caught up to me – at least released some information to the ravenous wolves of the press. Yet here you are, in the midst of this man's remains. This man, you could have saved. You drag your feet, wander bitterly from scene to scene, flirt with the obscene blond and laugh with the uncouth American._

" _I'm_ uncouth. _He's_ the one chopping people's heads off!"

_'Is there no end to your folly? You needn't bother with this anymore, boy. I am and always will be far beyond you – a mere snake whisperer, blind to truth. But perhaps you are salvageable. The beauty of the ancients becomes you – the smooth motions of your body as you walk, the flash of your eyes when angered. Yes, you could be mine, become one with me. Do not hesitate to cast aside these earthly beings. They are not enough for you. You have a month to catch me – and should you fail, your life is forfeit. Forever in power,_

_The Voice of Wolves._

Harry grimaced and dropped the bag back into the box. Troy snorted.

"And here I thought this had nothing to do with you. Looks like you have a new fan."

"Shut up, Troy." The American stepped over a particularly large chunk of the dead wizard and crouched, gloves already on.

"Well, the head's here, so identifying him shouldn't be a problem. However, because the head's here, we might have to rule out the idea that he's eating them – except the note sort of points right back to the Pillar of Heaven theory."

"We can't find his genitals – maybe he's switched to eating those instead?" Troy stared at him.

"You actually said that without wincing." Harry blinked.

"Yeah, and?" Troy shook her head at his bewilderment and turned back to the body – or rather, the majority of it – and sighed.

"'Kay, mates, pack him up and ship him off. We'll head back with the body." A small team followed her unorthodoxly worded orders while she and Harry headed out into the rain.

* * *

The cold, stark morgue was empty of all bodies not related to the case. Because the majority of the murders had moved to England, so had the bulk of the investigation. Eddie Leather, medical examiner of twenty three years, since he'd graduated from Hogwarts, was not amused.

"This sucks. Stupid dismembered body. Okay, boys, toss him in there."

"Eddie, have some respect for the dead."

"...I don't respect the living, why be exclusive?" Harry snorted.

"Whatever, Eddie. Just tell me what I need to know." The former Hufflepuff produced what appeared to be a penlight and shined it on the man's groin.

"See those? Looks like you were right about him switching his preferences cuisine-wise. Wonder if he's got a steady relationship."

"Eddie..." Harry's warning tone did nothing to deter the man.

"Also! That tooth you gave me a while back matches all the bite marks I found."

"All? How many?"

"Usually five to ten on each body. This guy, he'll take a little while longer, but I think he gnawed a couple things off, like his ear. I've also identified his weapon of choice – a broadsword, medieval. Not really in keeping with the whole Pillar of Heaven shtick, but that's okay, guy's gotta use what he can find, right?" Troy snorted and held up the dagger they'd found.

"Was this used on any of the others, do you think?" Nimble hands snatched the clear bag and held it up to large amber eyes.

"Huh. This...this is interesting." He slid it out of the bag and hefted it, eyes narrowed.

"Very interesting. Harry, I'd say you're pretty fit, yeah?" The taller wizard cocked his head to the side.

"Sure, why?"

"Well, take this." He did so and almost dropped it, eyes wide.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's weighted."

"No fucking duh, Eddie!" The M.E. shrugged.

"Have someone test that as soon as possible. If it's weighted with what I think it's weighted with, I've narrowed your suspect pool that much more. Back to our chop 'em, drop 'em man." Troy shook her head.

"You're worse than I am."

"Do you like talking to living, breathing people?"

"Yes."

"Then you can shut the hell up. I'm surrounded by dead people as a general rule. I have the social skills of a one year old." He slapped a hand down on the metal examining table, glaring at the remains.

"I'll be done with him in the next few hours, hopefully. Mallory sent word that you're to come to his office – a new Magus just arrived, apparently."

* * *

Mallory's expression was that of utter dislike; it was odd, given that Mallory hadn't even had that expression in regards to Troy. Faint discomfort, maybe even irritation, but not dislike. Ron, who had apparently been dealing with the case's effect on the many magical races he was ambassador to, had a similar expression on his face. Troy had stopped to talk to Eddie about one last thing, so Harry didn't have her to give him any indication about this guy beforehand.

"Magus...?" The shorter man pushed some of his sandy hair out of brown eyes and stuck out his hand.

"Dorian Irwinson."

"Hey, Irwinson." His eyes seem to light up in surprise as he looked past Harry to Troy, leaning lazily against the door frame, file dangling from gloved fingers.

"...Troy. Long time, no see."

"And wasn't it refreshing?" She nodded to Mallory.

"Where will Magus Irwinson be bunking, sir?" The Auror's eyes gleamed with fiendish light, but his face remained blank.

"It would appear there's nowhere else for him to go, with Auror Potter's house undergoing renovations. He'll have to stay in the trainee bunkers. Weasley, would you go tell Auror Graves to escort Magus Irwinson?" Ron nodded sharply, managing to just conceal his smirk, before striding out. Harry noted Troy's icy demeanor and sighed.

"Why don't we go back to Grimmauld? We can't go far, but the library is still accessible – perfect for this briefing." Mallory nodded and waved them out. Harry walked close to Troy, speaking quietly.

"We'll leave him with Sev and Phineas for a bit – we need to talk to Draco first, and you can tell me who the hell this guy is." She snorted and nodded, accidentally hitting him with her ponytail.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

* * *

They dropped Dorian off after Harry adjusted the wards to keep him out of most of the house and had a short word with Kreacher, who delivered Troy's request that Phineas and Sev make Dorian as uncomfortable as possible while they were away. From the former Headmaster's cackling as they left, he was going to enjoy that as much as possible. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the Magus.

They again joined Draco at Blaise and Luna's, taking their usual seats, noting how quickly the damage had been fixed.

"What took you two so long?"

"New Magus, who apparently has some history with Troy." Draco turned his attention to the Magus in question and she sighed.

"Dorian was my fiancee until about five years ago, when he dissolved our engagement and proposed the next day to my partner of the time. He felt there was no spark in our relationship and, to be blunt, thought I was boring." The silence was incredulous, at best.

"You? _Boring_? And he proposed to your partner the next day? Who the hell is this bastard!" Troy laughed outright at Draco's indignant reaction.

"Calm down – yeah, it was low to propose to my partner the next day, but I was boring. I wasn't always as outgoing as I am now. They gave me the nickname Italian Rabbit in the Academy because of how quiet and skittish I was – that, and my dislike of combat. I preferred to run or talk it out at the time." Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Really? Troy Del Toro, who picks up baby hippogriffs and takes out rings of smugglers all by herself?" She shrugged, grinning, a hint bitter.

"Shocking, I know – especially for you, I bet. I was always energetic, but I was a pacifist. When Dorian dumped me, I was depressed and thinking of quitting the Magus Corps. I guess you could say him dumping me gave me a new reason to live – I needed to prove him wrong. I was already passing my corp mates in the Academy, and asked the Director to let me go undercover – a reasonably safe undercover mission, but still more dangerous than anything you did at the Academy. He agreed, and I disappeared for three years. I came out of deep cover in the last remaining cell of the Temperance League and destroyed them, saving the President in the process." She sighed, leaning back in the booth.

"By then I'd become the Troy Del Toro you both know. It's always been a possibility for me – Blaise can attest to that – but it finally came out when I went underground." Now she made a face.

"Dorian was always a bastard, but I never noticed. I thought I loved him, and in that case, it was mind over matter. I blinded myself to his faults. He's intolerant, uptight, and elitist, but he's a decent Magus." Harry groaned.

"Do I actually have to deal with him on a regular basis? I wanted to punch him after a few minutes in the same room. Mallory and Ron had the same reaction."

"He does have that effect on people."

* * *

Draco returned to Malfoy Manor – after much prodding from Harry and a promise that he could return once they got rid of Dorian – and they headed back to Grimmauld. The moment they entered the library, it was apparent that Dorian had worked his magic on Severus and Kreacher; both merely glared at him, with Severus making snide remarks every other minute while Phineas alternately flustered and insulted the tired Magus. A plate of barely edible food sat in front of him, and Kreacher had donned a particularly ugly, filthy rag to serve him in, insisting on moving as close to him as possible to serve him. Harry and Troy both sat without a word, though they were greeted warmly (well...as warmly as Phineas could) by both portraits. Kreacher produced more food that seemed just as inedible, but was in fact merely glamoured, and saw to it that neither female Magus nor Auror could smell him when he served them. The briefing was – well, brief. Dorian complained of cold and rain and managed to insult Harry at least twice before it was over, and by the time they showed him out, everyone was in a bad mood.

"Kreacher, go tell Draco he can come through now, and get an orange; I'm sorry you had to endure him." The house elf grumbled and nodded, leaving them with the portraits. Severus immediately went into a rant, much to Harry's chagrin.

"Of all the impertinent, arrogant idiots to intrude on a logical being's presence!"

"Sev..." Troy smirked as Harry dropped his head against the table, ignoring the now unstoppable rant.

"I was prepared to believe the best, Harry, but it would appear lightning does not in fact strike the same place twice." Startled by the mild end, he raised his eyes to the irritated portrait. Troy smiled.

"Thanks, Sev." Phineas snorted.

"Is he going to be bait for the headhunter?"

"Phineas!"

* * *

Troy watched the water boil, fiddling with the two boxes Narcissa had given her. She'd completely forgotten to open them, let alone give one to Harry, and with the apparent escalation of the serial killer, paired with his newly established fascination with Harry and Dorian's arrival, it had further slipped her mind until Draco had asked about them. Harry hadn't pressed about them, attending to the Floo call from the Weasleys, while Draco had disappeared into the long unused area of the mansion that had been briefly converted into a pseudo potions lab, leaving Kreacher and Troy to deal with dinner. Troy was only doing the cutting and preparing of various ingredients; she couldn't focus on much more than that, and the house elf seemed to sense that.

She finally put one box down and went about examining the other. They were both made of light, pale wood, similar to balsa, and completely unadorned. She figured they were probably meant to be tossed; there wasn't any metal, precious or otherwise, and the wood was cheap, something that made her snort – she could imagine a rich pureblood's indignation at receiving anything in such a cheap container meant to be kept. She had once had similar reactions, before entering the Magus program. Flipping the lid off, she stirred the rice once while eyeing the contents.

It was a ring; given the size of the box, she wasn't surprised – she'd assumed it was jewelry or a charm of some sort. It was white gold, simple and elegant, stamped with a single starburst that contained a small diamond, cradled by the starburst's flaring arms. She thought back to the few items of jewelry she'd seen Draco wear and couldn't remember seeing the ring anywhere, when an odd thought occurred to her, and she picked up the second box, flipping it open while producing her wand and murmuring a few spells. An eyebrow raised in surprise when she found an earring, not a ring, and a web of spells meant to change the form of the item to suit its wearer.

"Clever."

"What is?" Harry stepped over the slightly raised bit of wood separating the kitchen from the rest of the house, summoning a small glass and an equally small bottle from on of the cupboards.

"Liquor? Really?"

"I don't drink that often, and I'm feeling the need to right now." Troy eyed the bottle with concern.

"You aren't going to get tipsy from that one drink, are you?" Harry snorted, returning the glass and downing the bottle without a thought. He swallowed and paused, before vanishing the bottle.

"No. It takes a bit more than that to get me buzzed. What's that?" He nodded to the two boxes. She handed him his.

"Apparently the original piece was charmed to change for what the user would most likely use."

"Huh. Arachnid theoretical magic?" She nodded, surprised. Arachnid theoretical magic, whose first documented use occurred in Greece, was magic meant to create change to something for someone even if the caster didn't know that person and could not obtain anything of that person's to use in the spell. It was based on the idea that magic, an organic force, imbued everything, and formed a web unseen throughout the world. By spinning new threads and easing them into this web, one could feasibly use spells on someone they'd never met before. The theory only covered spells such as the ones on the ring and earring, which allowed the magic to "read" the wearer once they came in contact with the vessel, for however briefly, and could not be used – so far – for things like the Unforgivables or any combat oriented spell, let alone transfiguration and the majority of charms used in everyday life. The few people who were licensed to use ATM (as it was sometimes called) could not be hired cheaply, so finding such spells on something given to them by the Malfoys was somehow unsurprising.

"She said Draco has one as well, but I've never seen it."

"Tongue piercing." She stared at him.

"Beg pardon?" she asked, tone expressing everything the words didn't. He sighed, smiling ruefully.

"Draco has a tongue piercing – that's probably where it is. I haven't had the occasion to look," he elaborated, smirking a bit. She fought the urge to smack upside the head for the expression. This wasn't the Navy*.

"Well then. I'm sure you could ask to look next time." The smirk grew, and she turned back to the rice with a huff of irritation. She barely swallowed a yelp when he hugged her from behind, kissing the top of her ear.

"Mm-hmm." She looked up at him, smiling slightly. The affection she felt for him was a surprise to her; she'd gotten used to putting up a facade and forcing everyone away, but this group of people, unremarkable outside of their fateful feats during Voldemort's reign, had chipped away at that facade and brought her into their lives with a warmth oddly given to someone who would be leaving them as soon as this case was over.

"Troy, when is dinner going to be ready?" Harry rested his chin on her head, grinning when she squeaked in objection and wriggled away from him.

"As soon as Harry leaves me alone." Draco materialized in the doorway, eyeing the smirking former Gryffindor.

"I'm hungry – stop bothering her and help me with these." He waved a few files at him. Harry sighed, plucked the earring from the box and tossed the box into the corner, striding out of the kitchen, pulling Draco after him.

"Dinner'll be ready in ten!"

* * *

"Lead."

"Yup. That dagger is weighted with lead. Now, I checked the rest of the bodies for marks, like you asked, that weren't organic. I found crude etchings on all of them – at the base of the spine, a starburst with a vertical line through it. A few tests confirmed they were all made with that dagger. Furthermore, they all have a few more stab marks on them I couldn't place until you brought that in, also caused by aforementioned dagger. Your killer probably has lead poisoning by now; see, I told you, narrows things out, doesn't it?" Harry made a face.

"Yes, Eddie, you said. However, you didn't say how you know he or she probably has lead poisoning."

"One, it's organic lead; higher lipid solubility. Two, a bit of the dagger's hilt, near the middle, has been stripped of ivory – well, it's been worn off. That thing is really old, and someone's been using it for a while. However, because that bit of ivory is gone, the killer's had direct contact with the lead for however long he's been using it. I'm not just throwing this information around, Harry."

"I never said you were – I just like having all the information."

"Yes, Harry. I know," the rodent like man replied, snapping the folder closed and tossing it on the table.

"Well. I can't tell you much more than that. I'll talk to a few of my Muggleborn associates, see if they have anything else that magic couldn't solve. Also; tell the male Magus to stay the hell out of here if he can't stomach blood. If he vomits all over my bodies, the case goes to shit." Harry coughed and nodded, shaking his head.

* * *

Dorian just could not win. He'd been assigned, first, to a residential area, and then later simply to dealing with the press and the victims' families. While he'd been doing fine with that, Mallory was impatient to find this guy as fast as possible – understandable, but couldn't he have let him sleep in his first day? Just because they didn't use jets didn't mean they didn't get jet lag! He snorted at that, wondering if pureblood Mallory even knew what a jet was.

Upon being reassigned to his new area – overlapping with Troy's, to his chagrin – he'd been ordered to visit Depravia immediately, with no explanation as to why. He imagined his boss would be hearing about his "insubordination", but he didn't care. It might be the British way to send your agents into a potentially dangerous situation blind, but it wasn't the American way, and he didn't particularly appreciate the gesture. He entered the dilapidated building warily, passing the tapestry with only a cursory glance, when a cold hand caught his wrist and yanked him backwards hard. He didn't even get a chance to pull his wand – he was almost instantly disarmed. He whipped around to glare into green eyes as Potter stepped out of the shadows, examining his wand with a yawn.

"Your reflexes could be better. What are you doing down here without backup, Dorian?" He narrowed his eyes at the taller Auror.

"Where's Troy?"

"In Depravia with our informant. I won't repeat my question." Before he could answer, something moved in the shadows, and he swallowed a particularly harsh expletive as a stone snake slithered into the light, moving down the wall until its head was level with the Aurors. He gaped as the other man answered the hisses in kind, produced a slim, silver tube, placed it in the snake's mouth, and waved it off with another few hisses.

"What the hell are you doing down here, Dorian?" He almost sagged with relief when the other American appeared at the door, glaring at him.

"Mallory sent me down here – didn't say-"

"Why. He never does. Go back and tell him we can't afford to have someone else down here – it'll strain the situation." He gaped as Harry tossed his wand back to him, barely catching it as he strode back through the door Troy had appeared from behind. The female Magus slammed it shut behind them, leaving him in the dingy hall to stare at the door in shock. He gritted his teeth and replaced his wand in its holster, before shoving the door open and freezing in his tracks.

A pair of scantily clad men twined around another man smoking idly while playing cards with a woman barely visible behind the thick bandages covering most of her body. Various groups echoed this format throughout the room, engaged in no few illegal games and activities.

"Who, pray tell, might you be, Sir?" He turned his eyes to the small man who had appeared seemingly out of thing air beside him.

"...Dorian." He just managed not to wince when thin lips pulled away to reveal gleaming, painfully straight teeth in a wide grin that made his stomach lurch. He noted almost absently that his gums were edged with blue, and his teeth, thought gloriously white, had a blue black edge as well. It was faint in both cases, but nevertheless there.

"Master Dorian, how may we at Depravia serve you?" He watched the grin widen even more, the skin around small dark eyes crinkling until you could barely see them at all.

"...I'll just have a drink." He was out of his fucking mind.

* * *

"What the hell is he doing here?" Troy groaned.

"Damn him, why doesn't he listen?"

"Your ex?" She started, meeting dark eyes and a small half smile.

"Um. Yeah. Sorry for ranting out loud." The man chuckled and shook his head.

"It's fine. You're the woman who came with Potter last time, yea?" She nodded warily and he chuckled again, holding out a hand.

"Elliot Grayson." She took the hand with the same enthusiastic reaction one might have to picking up a poisonous snake by the mouth.

"...Troy Del Toro." He returned her firm grip and released her hand with a light flick of the wrist, returning to his drink. She watched him sip the red tinted silver liquid dubiously.

"Are you here often?" He turned the crystal glass in the candlelight, watching it spray rainbows across the dark walls and her skin, eyes glittering with fascination.

"Yes – I'm a voyeur. Fetishes fascinate me, but I'm not particularly interested in the act of intercourse."

"...Well, at least you're honest." Who the hell wandered around in a sex club who wasn't interested in sex?

"A vow of abstinence?"

"Mm, no. I'm just...not interested in sex." He suddenly caught her hand and held it up to the light, running his fingers over the bones absently.

"I admit, I was surprised to see Potter here, and with a woman, no less." She pulled her hand from his, frowning.

"We're just friends." He rolled his eyes, taking another sip.

"Since when has that ever meant you don't have sex with one another?" She blinked, frustrated.

"It just – does."

"Given your logic, does that mean one is not friends with their significant other, and may only have sex with strangers?" She turned to face him completely, leaning forward a bit.

"That's not what I said. I said I don't have sex with Harry, because as friends, it's not part of our relationship." He gave her a wry smirk.

"Really?" She huffed.

"It was implied." She heard the glass hit the table with a sharp clink and started when cool fingers curled around her jaw and brought her forward. She barely heard his whisper of, "He's found you," before warm lips pressed to her own. Fingers pulled the band from her hair, letting it fall as a curtain between them and the rest of Depravia, and a hot tongue gently swiped over her lips, begging entrance. She reluctantly parted her lips, finally reacting enough to wrap her arms around his waist, freeing her wand from its holster and pressing it into his back. He chuckled against her mouth and deepened the kiss, occasionally flicking his tongue into her mouth when she allowed it. She shivered when he finally pulled away, pressing another kiss to her ear.

"So feisty. I'm saving you from an irritating encounter."

"Or creating more problems for me." He pushed her hair back, twisting a lock around his fingers and rubbing it between them, absent smirk back in place.

"Do not blame your inability to focus on something other than me long enough to see that your ex is stalking you on me, darling." She stared at him, unable to move as he gently twisted her hair into a chignon and pinned it in place with her transfigured hairband. She barely breathed when he brushed a kiss across her lips again and pressed a card into her hand, before sauntering off with his glass in hand.

As if cued by his leaving, Harry appeared at her side – with a woman?

"Harry, who-"

"It's me, Troy." She swallowed a gasp of surprise at Draco's voice, and looked him up and down in shock. The sheer cinched robe, wide-legged pants, and high necked sleeveless blouse were undoubtedly female clothing, and apparently, with his hair elaborately done up and makeup flawlessly applied, Draco could very well pass as a handsome woman. He wound an arm around Harry's waist and leaned against him, smirk firmly in place.

"You, on the other hand, appeared to be making friends." She blushed and shook her head, glaring in the direction Grayson had disappeared in.

"I was doing no such thing. He was trying to deter Dorian."

"The idiot's here?"

"Yes – he apparently ignored his senior officer's order. I'll be sure to make note of that in my next report." She snorted and shook her head.

"Are we leaving?" Draco nodded and untied a small, golden key from the robe's tie and pulled away from Harry, leading them upstairs.

"I can get a copy of this made for you – it'll get you out through Purloined, through its V.I.P. room."

"Convenient."

"I thought so." Troy rolled her eyes.

"Where are we headed to next?"

"Mallory has us on standby until he gets something checked out – we're to simply review what we already know and write up reports until he says otherwise. Ron and Hermione called and offered to host dinner, and then Narcissa did the same thing. I'm going to ask Ron and Hermione if they'd like to have dinner at the Manor instead – Narcissa already agreed. I think she's looking forward to having children around." Troy nodded, smiling sadly.

"I think you're right."

* * *

They arrived at the Manor to an army of Weasleys and, much to their surprise, the Krums, who had apparently arrived a few hours earlier to visit Narcissa. Pansy attached herself to Draco and began to scold him heartily for not calling, or writing a letter, or telling them where he'd been for so long the moment he'd resurfaced. Blaise watched as the last member of their old trio reamed the blonde, occasionally throwing in (usually unhelpful) commentary.

"Draco! Are you even listening to me?"

"No – you're becoming shrill, and I think I got the point when you slapped me." Troy giggled and quickly ducked behind Harry to avoid his glare. Hermione turned her attention from a monstrously large book (some things weren't meant to change) to the two ex-Slytherins.

"She has a valid point, Draco. You don't disappear for twenty years and leave no word to the ones you care about." Draco groaned and looked pleadingly at Harry, who promptly began a conversation with Lacy about Quidditch, leaving him to the two women's mercy. Troy and Ron finally took pity on him, Troy distracting Pansy with questions about Bulgaria and her pregnancy – she was having triplets – while Ron opened the Quidditch conversation to Draco.

Narcissa sat between Gaius and and Gorman, with Joan seated on her lap, discussing flower arrangements with Luna. Viktor joined the Quidditch argument, now focused on Seeker tactics, and Blaise, Hermione, Troy, and Pansy discussed Pansy's pregnancy and hopes of returning to Britain for at least the summer. Dinner was forgotten – the youngest children had eaten earlier, and weren't hungry enough to ask – and the night seemed blissful, which immediately put Harry on edge. He wasn't surprised when the house elf appeared and tugged on Narcissa's sleeve, a bit frantic.

"Miss, big man with badge calls. Asks for Potter and Del Toro, miss!" She paused, ears flat against her skull. Narcissa met Harry's eyes unhappily. He nodded to her unspoken question and rose, Troy following him closely.

"Tisky, show them to the master's office, dear." The house elf squeaked and nodded, beckoning.

* * *

Lucius's old office showed almost no sign of being essentially abandoned; like the majority of the things that reminded her of her late husband, Narcissa hadn't touched it. To the two law keepers' surprise, Mallory was actually in the office, not merely calling via Floo.

"Mallory-"

"Are the Weasleys here?" He paused, nodding slowly, watching the man shake his head.

"Good. We've been trying to track them down. The headhunter destroyed their house."

" _What_?" Harry barely opened his mouth to elaborate – with expletives – when Mallory held up his hand.

"No one was hurt, but it was undoubtedly him; he left a beheaded rooster and another note." He turned to the house elf, who had yet to leave.

"Would you bring your mistress and the Weasleys here, please?" The house elf nodded frantically and popped out. Mallory folded his arms, grim.

"We think he's targeting people close to you – his notes leave little doubt that he's obsessed with you, though why he took so long to say something, I don't know. Irwinson is joining you, whether you like it or not – the more people with you, the better able you'll be to address threats to your loved ones. You're still on the case, but I'm not so cruel as to leave you unable to protect them. We all know what you've been through." Harry nodded again, moving to the side as the door opened and Narcissa, Hermione, and Ron walked in.

"The kids are with Draco and the others. Mallory, what's going on?" The Auror explained again what had happened, and Troy watched Narcissa's eyes go cold.

"Hermione, Ronald, you are most welcome to stay here – I have the space, and the protection." Harry's eyes lit up a bit.

"She's right; the Manor has some of the best wards I've seen anywhere, and no one but Draco has a direct link here, and it's in Grimmauld, so it's essentially inaccessible to anyone Kreacher doesn't trust." Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't want to upset the children too much; Joan's still recovering from the riot...but if it's dangerous at home, then yes, Narcissa, we would be very grateful if we could stay here." The Malfoy matriarch nodded sharply.

"Then it is settled. Tisky." The house elf popped in by her elbow.

"See to it that the Weasleys are settled here." She looked at Mallory.

"I'll send word when it's safe to bring their belongings here." She nodded again and dismissed Tisky, before striding out, Weasleys in tow. The Auror nodded to Harry.

"I'll be going then; we've almost finished up that investigation I mentioned." Troy started at that.

"Already?"

"I'd had an idea for a little while now – this is only the official investigation. We have a person of interest – a Lord Elliot Grayson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I do this. Why. -tacky, guys. That's me-


	8. Flattery Earns You Little Nowadays

Harry watched with no small amount of amusement as Troy ranted, stalking back and forth in front of him while he ran his fingers through Draco's hair.

"Troy, you're wearing a hole in the carpet. It's probably expensive, and while I could replace it, why destroy it in the first place?" Draco snorted from his position lying across his legs.

"He has a point, beloved American. Sit down." She whipped around and glared at the two men.

"I don't think you get it!"

"You're probably right." She groaned and flopped down next to Harry, staring at the ceiling.

"This isn't fair." Draco rolled over onto his stomach to gaze at her impassively.

"Troy, why are you making such a big deal about this? You met once."

"During which he kissed me, taunted me, and flustered me! _Me_! No one flusters me, not even when I was still meek!" The blonde sat up and settled himself in Harry's lap again, leaning back against his chest. He hadn't changed out of the clothing he'd worn at Depravia, and apparently the fact that Draco Malfoy cross-dressed didn't surprise or faze anyone. Troy sat up as well, crossing her arms.

"I don't _like_ being flustered, Draco Malfoy, and it is a state I do not commonly inhabit." Draco snorted and rested his head against Harry's shoulder.

"Troy, maybe it's a sign he appeals to you."

"I wanted to slap him the entire time!"

"They say opposites attract." Harry laughed.

"Don't use us as a comparison, Draco – we tried to kill each on more than one occasion." The blonde shrugged, tracing patterns on his hand.

"Really, though...why _are_ you so flustered about this? You remind me of Hedwig when I offended her." Troy tilted her head in question at that and Harry shook his head, smiling sadly.

"Never mind."

"Do I have to impose a curfew on you three? I am dead and do not particularly wish to take up my duties as professor again, in this life or the next." The three looked up at Severus.

"...How would you impose and uphold a curfew, being, as you said, dead?" The man smirked and Harry paled a bit.

"Troy, don't ask questions like that, just go to bed." The woman huffed and hopped off the bed, stalking out with a curt good night. Draco remained where he was.

"Draco, you have your own room."

"And?" Severus snorted and left, knowing exactly how _that_ conversation was going to end.

* * *

Troy stalked around the dark kitchen, frustrated. She couldn't sleep; worried about the Weasleys and Narcissa, flustered by Grayson, irritated about Dorian, everything kept attacking her brain, giving her barely a moment's peace. She'd tried to read until she simply fell unconscious; she'd had a three hour long conversation with Severus and Phineas, giving her more insight into Harry's life and bringing her no closer to sleep; she'd even started talking to herself, until it became unbearable and she _had_ to move. She collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and stared out the window, listening to the rain, spacing out – until the large dark shape hit the window, demanding she open it and let it in lest it break it with its wings. Startled out of her almost stupor by the enormous eagle owl, she opened the window and let the bird in, watching it hop across the table and snap its wings out several times, fluffing its feathers and glaring malevolently at her. She noticed two letters; one from the post office, the other sealed in royal purple wax flecked with silver. She offered her wrist to the bird and let it move up to her shoulder, then headed to the attic, where she'd seen a few bird cages, one of which would certainly be big enough to house this owl. She opened the one from the general post first; both were addressed to her, but that didn't mean anything.

' _Magus Troy Del Toro,_

 _This message was forwarded from the state of Florida in the United States of America. We hope the news is to your liking; have a nice day.'_ Polite – weird, but polite. She was uncertain as to whether or not she wanted to open it; the only people she knew in Florida were her father's family, of whom most did not speak to her. Irritated by that thought, she returned the small missive, still sealed, to its envelope, and broke the seal on the second one, pausing to enter the attic and situate the owl. Instead of going back downstairs, she sat on an old trunk and turned on a lamp, turning her attention to the letter.

_'Magus Troy Del Toro,_

_I pray you aren't too irritated with me – given our circumstances, I imagine you can understand my behaviour to some degree. I'm a playful person at heart, and you interest me, despite your prickly demeanour regarding me._

_I have received information from a close friend that you will be interrogating me soon enough, as a so called person of interest in the headhunter case. I will not plead my innocence here; there will be time enough for that in the future. I cannot in all honesty say I know why I am writing this note; you fascinate me, as I have expressed before. There is no purpose outside of the recreational for this missive. Perhaps you will answer, perhaps you will not._

_Pray tell, Magus, what led you to become what you are now? You lived quite happily after the Temperance League was mostly dissolved; why enter the Magus Academy and become one of their elite? Did you perhaps sense that the League was not truly gone, and sought to destroy it completely? Did you become bored with life as a shining example of wealth in the New World? Did you simply follow the nagging sensation that haunts us all at some time in out lives, without thought as to where you would go?_

_Beguiling one, I needn't request an answer; I know you are not one to answer requests you see as prying. Perhaps sleep will come more easily to you than it has me._

_Elliot Grayson'_

The missive was short, and did little to ease her restlessness. An apology that was not an apology, inside information as to their case, and a confession of – fascination and sleeplessness? She sighed and examined his handwriting. Sharp, decisive, with the slightest bit of a curl on certain letters; simple, elegant. A bit playful – like his kiss. Now she snorted and folded the letter again. Comparing his writing to his kiss was a sign that she was in dire need of sleep – she sounded like a lovesick school girl. She returned to her room, leaving the owl's cage and the attic window open, and promptly feel asleep, still laughing at herself.

* * *

Harry woke up and tried to sit up, blinking when he had problems with doing so. Something was on top of him – he blinked again and stared down at the blonde lying across him stomach. ...Had they really argued until they'd fallen asleep, or had Draco hexed him? He shifted his hips and again attempted to move, this time without waking Draco, then sighed in annoyance.

"Uncooperative snake." He shifted his weight and leaned down to pull Draco up his body. Immediately, the blonde cuddled closer, burying his face in his chest. Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval and lifted his head, pressing light kisses to his mouth and jaw. Silver eyes fluttered open and warm lips pressed back against his, arms tightening around his body as the newly awakened blonde leaned forward, returning the kiss hungrily. Harry pulled back and shook his head at Draco's contented expression.

"You're like a cat, you know that?" Draco ignored him, stretching and curling up against him.

"Mm...that's a nice way to wake up." Harry sighed and settled back in. Where had all his hate gone? When had he stopped wanting to strangle the blonde every time he spoke?

"Harry?" When had his voice become so sweet? He met his eyes, smiling weakly.

Draco searched the other man's green eyes, wondering why he'd gone so quiet.

"Harry?" he repeated, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. He caught his hand and nuzzled his palm, smile growing.

"Do you want to stay for longer than the month?" Draco started.

"Really?" Harry nodded, pressing a light kiss to his palm.

"Forgive the intrusion, but get up already!" They both looked at the closed door.

"Troy?"

"Yes. I'm not coming in – for all I know, you two were getting frisky last night and are in a debauched state similar to that of Draco's Depraviates. Breakfast's ready." They listened to her pad away and moved to get out of bed – or rather, Harry moved to go, Draco leaned back and admired him. The brunette ignored his low whistle and dug out a sweater, tossing it on the bed.

"Troy!" His call echoed through the empty house.

"What?"

"Is the shower working?"

"Yeah – only cold water, though." He sighed.

"Of course." Draco finally rose and padded over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"You're a wizard, aren't you? Heat the water magically."

"It doesn't work."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have a hard time imagining you begging for much – the water won't heat magically. I've tried." The blonde raised an eyebrow at that.

"...You and your freaky exceptions to every rule – mmph! Mmm..." Harry pulled back in only seconds, ignoring Draco's irritated growl.

"Shh. I need to go shower." The blonde let go and turned back to the sweater he'd tossed on the bed.

"We need-"

"We're not shopping any time soon, and I'm not letting you replace my clothing regardless."

"Spoilsport."

* * *

Troy jumped when the door slammed open and Harry slid in, yelping as he slammed into Kreacher – or rather, ran him over – and hit the wall. Draco appeared moments later, soaking wet and apparently feeling murderous.

"Potter!"

"I told you it's sensitive!" Troy stepped between them, taking in Draco's appearance and struggling not to laugh.

"What happened?" Harry coughed.

"I was trying to take a shower and it shut off suddenly. I was trying to tell Draco it happens all the time and no amount of magic will fix evil plumbing, but he disagreed and ended up soaked, so he blames me." Troy managed to keep Draco away from Harry long enough to dry him off, only to step aside and return to the table and her breakfast, leaving Harry to Draco's wrath. She didn't bother looking up when she heard them run into the wall – she could imagine Draco's choice of punishment methods.

Draco dragged Harry out into the hall and pinned him to the wall, biting down on his collarbone. Harry gasped and bucked, shuddering at the sensations ripping through him.

"Nnng – Draco – ah! I _told_ you...oooh..." The blonde purred in response to his prey relaxing beneath him and lapped at the hickey he'd just given him, soothing the sore flesh.

"I do not particularly care if you did or did not tell me – it is still your fault." Harry snorted weakly at his logic and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly.

"You're going to be careful, right?" The blonde pulled back, confused.

" _I'm_ going to be careful? You're the one in the field!"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"...He – the killer might be targeting people close to me. Just...promise you'll be as careful as you can." He wrinkled his nose and sighed.

"Yes, Harry, I'll be careful." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Do you hear that?" Harry looked around, puzzled.

"Hear what?"

"...Stupid fucking plumbing..."

* * *

Dorian sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the ceiling. He'd just endured two separate scoldings – to put it lightly – one from Mallory, one from his boss. They'd exiled him to the hall while they discussed his behaviour, leaving him alone with his rambling thoughts and-

"Potter. Troy." The curvy Magus ignored him; Potter simply nodded, a small smirk hovering at the corner of his mouth.

"Dorian – we forgot to tell you; Eddie says to stay out of the morgue if you can't stomach the sight of blood – something about vomit ruining our case." He felt the blood alternately drain from his face then rush back, making him lightheaded. Stupid mouthy medical examiner.

"I'll keep that in mind..." The smirk widened and he clenched his fists, then turned his attention to Troy. She leaned against the opposite wall, ankles and arms crossed, eyes closed.

"Saw you at Depravia."

"You mean when you were supposed to be here, giving Mallory an update on our status?" Her eyelids didn't even flicker. He scowled.

"You seemed rather enthusiastic. Known him long?" No reaction from her; Potter's eyes were promising painful retribution.

"Not as long as you – he certainly was more involved in those few minutes than you ever were in the years of our engagement." Potter's hands stopped twitching towards his wand holster; he relaxed completely. Dorian gritted his teeth and began to tap a sharp beat on his leg; anything to distract him from the urge to hit something – probably Potter, whose smirk was again firmly in place.

"Irwinson, Del Toro, Potter; come in." Potter lead them through the worn door and moved to the side of the room, settling nearest to Mallory's desk. Troy propped herself up on the corner of the desk itself; Dorian sat in the single chair.

"Sir, before you begin, I received a letter from Lord Grayson, saying he'd been informed of our pending investigation."

"I should hope so – I told him." Cool gazes and perturbed silence.

"Sir?"

"I told Elliot he was under investigation, as I always tell my suspects. He would have closed down if we'd leapt on him."

"He's had a chance to figure out a story."

"No, he hasn't." Four small vials were rolled into Harry's hand.

"Veritaserum. Potter, you're in charge, and I expect you know better than I do how to use that properly – you've conducted several successful interrogations since you began with us. I don't...I don't want to believe Elliot is doing this, but I cannot rule him out. He is an esteemed collector of all things archaic; if he is not our killer, he could very well be an asset." He leveled a stern gaze on Dorian.

"I expect you to follow Auror Potter's orders – he is your superior in this case." The Magus nodded, jaw tight.

"Dismissed – try not to make a mess of things."

* * *

Troy fought the urge to scream at the smug man across from her; he was impeccable, the little bastard. And that _cane_. She envied it, a sleek composition of pale wood and pale metal, twisted together to form a pair of gleaming wings cradling an orb of purple jade. She pretended she wasn't preoccupied with his elegant hands, the way the skimmed over the surface of the stone and teased her mercilessly with meaningless flicks of the fingers that nevertheless caught her attention and held it as she tried to decipher the nonexistent code.

_Damn him._

Elliot's eyes gleamed in the sunlight. Troy thought it enormously unfair that the sun would dare come out after days of rain to stream becomingly through the windows and bring out golden highlights in his dark brown hair, with the occasional red here and there.

"Lord Grayson, I understand you are an antiques collector." There was Harry, keeping her mostly sane, but damn it, couldn't he address Dorian, not Elliot? The bastard had a warm, deep voice that was irritatingly soothing – she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the small divan and go to sleep.

"I admittedly have a large collection."

"Any swords?" Dorian. His voice made her want to claw his eyes out – or maybe that was just her general feeling around him.

"Quite a few, sir. Perhaps it would be helpful to view them?" Harry suddenly kicked Troy in the shin, snapping her out of her daze.

"Would you take Magus Del Toro and show her the weapons in question? Magus Irwinson and I need to discuss some things."

"Wait, Harry-"

"We'll see you back in the foyer. Irwinson, with me." She barely managed to squeak in objection when the door closed behind them with a soft click.

"Damn him to hell."

"That's not very nice, Troy." She whirled on him, eyes narrowed.

"You knew who I was at Depravia." He rose and strolled out the door through which Harry and Dorian had vacated room through.

"I admit, my knowledge prior to our meeting was beyond your own." She followed him, scowling.

"...I don't like you, you know that right?" He laughed and she almost swallowed her tongue trying to not answer in kind.

"My darling Magus, I know only that you refuse to leave my thoughts, and now here you are, pestering me in blatant disregard for the sun's reign."

"Poetic."

"Mm...I have been told I have a talented mouth." This wasn't fair! She wanted nothing more than to kiss him, yell at him, _something_. He flustered her, made her blush, had her chasing stars with her eyes, made her dizzy with conflicting emotions. He beat her in arguments, he complimented her wardrobe, he'd even subtly defended her against Dorian, who had yet to make the connection between the man in Depravia and the Lord Grayson they spoke to today. She stepped in front of him and placed her hands on her hips, ignoring the voice in her head that said she probably looked like her father's mother, the matriarch of the Del Toro clan.

"What are your intentions, Grayson? You must have some ulterior motive!" She mentally winced at her tone and kicked herself; she hadn't meant to sound so accusative. To her absolute mortification, he laughed. She narrowed her eyes and whipped around, stalking out of the room. She barely heard him speed up to catch up, even as she mentally sighed in resignation as his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his chest.

"Where do you think you're going, lovely?" She looked up into his dark eyes and swallowed.

 _Damn it._ She was going to kill Harry when she saw him again.

* * *

Harry mentally recited the first five pages of The Aeneid – required reading once you entered the Auror ranks – in Latin while glaring at Dorian.

"The _only_ reason you're here right now and not sitting behind a desk filing our paperwork is because Mallory is trying to give me some extra ability to protect the people around me. You need to keep in mind that if you step over the line one more time, I won't hesitate to reprimand and even punish you in public. You don't strike me as the type of person who takes public humiliation well, so shut the fuck up and do your _job_." Dorian rolled his eyes and ended up with a broken nose. It hadn't occurred to him that beyond being able to talk to snakes, Harry could also become as fast as one if you pissed him off. The Auror cracked his knuckles and strolled out of the hall, following the directions of the snakes bordering a Anglo-Saxon inspired tapestry to his left.

Dorian really needed to learn.

* * *

When she heard his footsteps, she almost died of relief and pried herself away from the lord, fleeing the few steps to the door and yanking it open, revealing a perplexed Harry.

"You bastard, you shouldn't have _left_ me with _him_!" she whispered furiously, ignoring the amused glint that appeared in his green eyes.

"Is there a problem, Magus Del Toro?" Oh, _now_ he was going to act proper? She whipped around, fully prepared to unleash the full force of her extensive, bi-lingual vocabulary, when she paused, head tilted.

"Lord Grayson, what is that?" Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at her tone and slowly raised his eyes to the weapon hanging over the door leading back into the solarium they'd exited.

It was a weapon consisting of a heavy handle supporting a pair of crescent blades, similar to an axe. The tip was equipped with a hook, and the end, a rounded cap of metal, meant to crush bones and dent armour, making it almost impossible to free oneself from. The tall man looked up and sighed, eyes reflecting dark feelings.

"It was something my father picked up in his travels; I cannot honestly say I'm particularly fond of it." He paused, eyes narrowing.

"However, there were once a pair; one was stolen some time ago. They make similar wounds to a broadsword if, perhaps, one were to chop someone's head off..." Harry sighed.

"Convenient."

"Isn't it, though?" The lord looked slightly sickened, before confusion flickered in his eyes.

"Auror Potter – where is Magus Irwinson?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -clicks tongue- Irwinson is a reference to a Pokemon trainer. Just, so ya know.


	9. Catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.K.A. the chapter where I forget this story is about Harry, not Troy.

"Harry, he probably just ran off again to sulk – you did break his nose." The Auror didn't answer as they stalked down to the morgue. Two days had passed. Two, without word.

"Troy, something is off about this."

"Someone's head, probably."

"Troy!" The American shut up at his strangled tone, brown eyes softening.

"Harry, he wasn't your responsibility; you don't need to worry, he can take care of himself. He's ridiculously good at extracting himself from the messes he creates." Again, he didn't reply, pushing the morgue doors open.

"Eddie, did you look into the axe?"

"Harry, please. This is the epitome of elegance and power within the Pillar of Heaven ranks – it is not a mere axe." Troy snorted at Eddie's mock haughty tone, and even Harry cracked a smile. The squirrel like man hefted the weapon with surprising skill, grinning from ear to ear.

"Lady and gentleman, may I present to you the murder weapon?" He paused, grin dropping away as he looked thoughtful.

"Well. Not the weapon. Simply one of the same type." He shrugged and beckoned, whipping around and shooting over to a quintet of mannequins situated near the back of the room.

"I had a few people of different try it out, and I have figured out that this killer is about my height, though with greater arm strength than me and probably more skill handling this thing." He tapped the dismembered mannequin nearest him on the shoulder.

"We'll be doing more tests, but something else came up; the bite marks and the etchings. The etchings were done pre-mortem, the bite marks occurred post. There's heavy ritual to these killings, now that I really look at them. I think your Pillar of Heaven theory is absolutely correct – and with a little more knowledge I recently acquired, I can expand on it." He pulled the mannequin forward.

"You're looking for someone who is modeling himself, obviously, after the wolf seers – now, beyond this, there was a hierarchy. The person who would have used this axe was known as the patriarch. They were considered to be the most powerful beneath the leader, and supposedly had three purposes; destroy the wolf seers' enemies, mate with the most powerful and beautiful people to further the power of the line, and die glorious, bloody deaths for their god." He smirked.

"These guys got laid a lot." Harry sighed.

"Eddie, do you think of anything other than sex and death?"

"That's the basis of life as we know it." He stared at the grinning man, who skipped past them.

"That's it, so you can go back to looking for the irritating Magus." He paused.

"No, wait – Mallory said to go home. Wants you two to rest up while they locate Irwinson. Okay, off you go!" He shooed them through the doors with a demented cackle.

"He gets scarier the longer I know him."

"I know, Troy; I know."

Draco had taken the week or so off from Depravia to settle into Grimmauld and do an overhaul on Harry's wardrobe, in spite of his requests, and had dragged him into Muggle Paris an hour earlier, leaving Troy to do as she pleased. She found herself cross-legged on her bed, eyeing the missives she'd received three nights ago. She'd penned a hasty reply to Grayson after they'd returned to Grimmauld after being unable to find Dorian, and was holding the newest reply in her hand.

'Troy,

Darling one, you shouldn't tease – it's unbecoming, no matter how enchanting you are. I am overwhelmed with delight at your reply; it took me far too long to still my pounding heart, and I can honestly say I have never enjoyed reading a woman's list of my faults so much.' She snorted. That was essentially what her letter was – a telling off, in the nicest terms.

'I do, however, wonder if perhaps your prickly facade is just that – a facade. What are you like with loved ones? Again, I ask how you became what you are now. In light of your irascible and perhaps not lightly sarcastic questions as to my own past, I give you this.

I was born here in England; my parents are both of French and Scottish descent. I attended the French school of Flammesage, and later the esteemed Academy of Wicca. I am currently estranged from my mother, and my father is dead, killed in an early Death Eater raid. I can say, perhaps not without sounding pompous and picky, that no woman before you has ever captured my attention and held it so thoroughly. I had previously thought myself immune to the woes attraction seems to bring. Sleepless nights hold no appeal for me, but I find myself entertaining them far too often with thoughts of you. I imagine you think me silly and overly romantic, and perhaps it's true, but I am unable to express my feelings without sounding as such. Troy rolled her eyes. She would have to remember to tell him it was a hazard of going to school in France, of all place.

'I am fretting over your safety now; Potter is competent, as are you, but this man is undoubtedly one of the most dangerous to roam our world. I would like to see you as soon as you would allow – I will wait for however long you would have me do so. With greatest affection and everlasting patience,

Elliot.'

She sighed and placed the letter with the first one, flopping onto her back and closing her eyes.

"Damnable man."

"You are beginning to resemble Harry in behaviour, Del Toro." She snorted, cracking one eyelid.

"The effects of being around him for so long are dizzying." He noted with heavy sarcasm with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps you would like to elaborate on your first comment." She waved a hand at the letters beside her.

"Letters from an admirer – Lord Elliot Grayson. Well, two of them are; I don't know who the third one is from." She sighed, eyes opening completely to stare glassily at the ceiling.

"He's a bit wordy, a little too sure of himself, but nevertheless sweet – but I don't...I don't know if I can conceivably return his feelings, I don't think I can let someone in, let someone have so much access to my heart." Unwittingly, she opened the floodgates on her emotions, freeing the raging flood that had begun building the moment she met Elliot.

"After Dorian dumped me, I thought I would die. That's stupid, I know, but he'd been my biggest confidant for years, the person I thought I could depend on when I was at my worst – and then he was gone. My dad did the same thing, when I was so young, and it obviously left an impression, because I just cracked. I didn't talk for five years after he sent me to my mother's family. Even after that, I was always quiet, I was shy." She laughed bitterly, slapping her hands down on the mattress, eyes widening. Severus was obviously uncomfortable, but he chose not to leave; he seemed to sense she needed someone to listen, and he feared that if he left, she would retreat from everyone, and he wasn't sure she would be able to cope alone.

"I had – have – a horrible temper. I'd let my pain build up, more and more, over and over until a broke and broke things, hurt people, hurt myself – I always hurt myself, so much. Once, during Magus training, I tore up my apartment and passed out. My roommate checked me into the hospital, and they thought Dorian was beating me." A choked sob left her, mixed with weak, ever bitter laughter.

"After Dorian dumped me, I broke worse than ever, I went cold, then I went undercover, in the Temperance League. They changed me – taught me to believe in myself again. I – I met someone there. His name was Eric. He made it clear, when he first approached me, that he didn't want a relationship; I tried so hard, so hard, not to cling to him, not to make him a surrogate for Dorian." She slowly rolled onto her side, staring at Severus's portrait.

"I killed him, Sev. I killed him as he was telling me he loved me. I died inside. Who could love me? Me? My own father didn't love me, my mother didn't really care about me, Dorian wanted my money, Eric – Eric only cared about his fucking pureblood supremacy." Tears streamed down her face and she curled up, hugging herself, sobbing softly. She didn't really understand whatever Severus was murmuring, but she knew he was trying to comfort her; she could hear it in his tone, his uncertain, halting words more sincere than anything her mother, father, Dorian, or Eric had ever said to her.

She was finally healing.

Harry came in sometime far later than he'd expected; Troy was already in bed, apparently. All the lights were off, save for a small lamp in the library. A letter lay open under it, and a smaller note beside that.

'Harry, I'm not feeling well. I'm going to be seeing Elliot tomorrow, and I might not come back until late. Have a good day with Draco while I'm away, okay?' He grinned wearily. Only Troy. He moved closer to the note and letter and paused when he saw small circles of wetness on the parchment, a few of the letter's words smeared.

Tears? Was Troy crying over – did Grayson say something to her? He snatched the letter up, eyes scanning it almost frantically for some sign that he wouldn't have to hunt the man down and feed him his own spinal cord.

'My dearest Rhiannon,' He almost dropped the parchment, eyes wide. He had a hard time believing Grayson would call Troy by her middle name.

"Harry, I can say with absolute certainty that that letter is private." He started, dropping it back on the small desk.

"Sev! What happened when we were gone?"

"Where is Draco?"

"He's back at the Manor, he'll see us tomorrow – don't change the subject!" He activated another lamp as to be able to see the portrait clearly, eyes narrowed. Severus sighed.

"Harry, she has endured emotional pains similar to your own – she has long believed herself unloved and unworthy of love. Elliot Grayson's advances have thrown her into chaos. That," he nodded to the letter, "is something else entirely."

"You can read it." They both (well...technically only Harry – technically,) turned to see Troy in the doorway. She was wearing a bulky turtleneck and loose pants, both in a pale pink that was faded from use, and hugging herself, eyes red and puffy from crying.

"It's...you can read it, I don't mind." He crossed the short space and gently pried her arms away from her body, lacing his fingers with hers.

"Are you alright? I mean, I can tell you aren't, but should you be seeing Grayson tomorrow?"

"I'll be fine, Harry...if tomorrow goes the way I think it will, I'll be back to myself in a few days." He paused, searching her eyes for some sign that she wasn't sure, some sign that something still wasn't right, then pulled her into a tight hug, nuzzling her hair.

"You'd better be – I need someone to fend off Draco and Eddie, don't I?" Her laughter, though weak and slightly rasping, was nevertheless joyful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was projecting at some point during writing this, I just know it...


	10. Dearly Beloved/Long Departed

_'My dearest Rhiannon,_

_It is my hope that this reaches you well. Your health is well desired, and perhaps now you've come to understand what I could not all those years ago. I have heard much of your escapades; how you are the Magus Corps Italian Rabbit, how you destroyed the last festering remains of the Temperance League._

_The League was once my most precious affiliation. I knew its ranks better than my own family for a time; eventually they became part of those ranks. It was not without a price – I lost many, many friends and family to our crusade. Now, I know it could have been dealt with differently, but what but force changes the world? A mountain will not fall without the touch of a god; a speeding train will not be halted with the ground beneath it collapsing. Force has always stopped the march of that which is undesired. However, it cannot stand against love – it has never been able to stand against it, never been able to claim it. Your mother, may she rest in more peace than she was given in life, showed me that. I didn't want to love her – I tried my hardest to remain loyal to Lucrezia, ignoring Bernadette, even insulting and degrading her in public, and every day I became more and more obsessed. No amount of force could have stopped me from begging for her hand in marriage, not even the force that left my leg shattered after I killed Lucrezia to protect the idiot Magus who attempted to infiltrate the League._

_Gerard Green is possibly the most inept Magus I have ever met, but your uncle is nevertheless a competent wizard. It was he who saved me from the jaws of Muggleborn mobs in France when we were visiting a young archeologist and his rich backer, one Lucius Malfoy. Before he became one of the most notorious purebloods in the world, he was very much interested in backing long-shots and chuckling when he came up with piles of money from them that left his contemporaries green with envy. His personal fortune was built off of this ability to see potential and twist it to his own use. Gerard, Lucius and I were extremely close, before Gerard simply disappeared. I drifted back to America and while remaining in contact with Lucius, didn't see him nearly as much as I would have liked._

_I understand that this probably seems irrelevant – mindless ramblings to put off an apology, perhaps. I have not been the most involved parent – I went so far as to almost abandon you completely. I...I did not realize how much I needed you and your mother. Love did not form the bonds I needed – I assumed love would give me everything I needed, that I did not need to try to give those bonds any attention. I – I loved you and your mother. I further pushed you away when I realized I was being hunted, hunted by someone obsessed with the Pillar of Heaven. We of the Del Toros married into one of the many tribes descended from those original snake-whisperers and the starred race, as well as the wolf seers – we specifically came from a sect of the starred race that chose to stand away from their brethren and chronicle the events that destroyed their empire. Darling, I wish I didn't have to stay away for so many years, and I know nothing can recover that time, but perhaps now we have a chance. I will be in Britain in a few days – near the end of the month – directly from Florida to the Malfoys' Manor. I pray I may see you then. Darling one, I pray you may forgive me in time. Until then, your ever loving father,_

_Malachai Del Toro._

Harry dropped the letter back onto the desk, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus..."

"It does seem rather disconcerting, to say the least." He sighed, shaking his head.

"...Should I just forget about it and focus on the case?"

"It is advised." He nodded, eyes unfocused.

"Thanks, Sev..." The man seemed to realise his former student needed time to himself and made himself scarce. Harry trailed his fingers over the desk's grain, thoughts grim. They were running out of time; the days passed without much more information, while bodies began to stack up outside of London and throughout the world, each attack becoming bloodier and bloodier. The newest change in the man's M.O. was the disappearance of internal organs; first the brain, then the heart, then both. New marks were appearing, and no one, not even the many Pillar of Heaven "experts" in the Americas, seemed to know what they meant. Another note, badly written – as if the writer was frantic or excited – was found, with, much to Harry's horror and disgust, semen on it. The basic message was simple; the murderer exclaiming over his delight in being so close to having Harry all to himself, with an outline of his demands upon defeating Harry in this little "game". Harry hadn't seen the note itself yet – Mallory seemed convinced that it would throw him off his focus, and Harry honestly couldn't resent him hiding the contents from him. He leaned back, exhaling wearily.

They had exactly one week before the month was over, and after that – Harry didn't know. He hadn't the slightest idea what the admittedly disturbing man had in store for him. He rose and kicked the chair back into place, striding out and heading up to his room, when Kreacher's harsh tones filtered to his ears from the darkness.

"The Master Harry is receiving a call from the Master's employer. He says it is urgent, Master Harry, sir." He noted the house elf's slightly strained tones and realised Mallory must have yelled; Kreacher wasn't easily startled or alarmed.

"Right away, Kreacher. I'll see him in the study; do not wake Magus Del Toro, understood?" The house elf nodded curtly and stalked away. Harry disregarded his usual philosophy of if you don't need magic, don't use it, and Apparated into the study.

"Potter!" Was that relief in his voice?

"Mallory-"

"We found Irwinson's body." The Auror stared into the flickering flames, face pale.

"He – the headhunter?" Mallory nodded – awkward given his position.

"Not his usual M.O., but most definitely him – left a note."

"Not his usual M.O.?"

"No; he was beheaded, yes, but he was also disemboweled, and his head was left at the scene – with a Glasgow grin. I don't think I've ever seen someone put so much effort into making something so horrific." Harry swallowed hard, wondering absently if he should maybe sit down.

"I'll be there directly-"

"No, Auror Potter, you will not. You are going to remain with Malfoy at all times; he is likely the man's next victim. Aurors Creed Jones and Valeria Priscilla Tanner are being sent to Malfoy Manor. Given their...particular specialties, they should be safer than ever before." Harry snorted at that. Creed was a werecat and prone to violent reactions to anyone stupid enough to threaten her charges. Her partner, Valeria, was a peculiar halfblood vampire bonded to a miniature dragon by the name of Lorcan. Valeria tended to call him Ani, much to Creed's never-ending amusement and the regal little dragon's disgust.

"Spend the next two days away from the case – we are forming a trap for this sonuvabitch, and I need you to play bait. Tomorrow, spend the day with Malfoy. The day after that, with the Weasleys and Mrs. Malfoy. I'll keep you in the loop – we have a new expert coming in-"

"Troy's father."

"...Yes. Is she-"

"She'll be fine. She's...she'll be fine." Mallory shook his head.

"I'll contact you tomorrow. Get some sleep."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Troy stretched and flipped over onto her stomach, grinning a little at the light pouring through the window, surrounding the majestic owl on the sill in a halo.

"Cleopatra." The pharoah eagle owl eyed her, and she giggled, rising and opening the window, offering her arm.

"Darling, he does not pamper you nearly enough. Kreacher!" The crack that heralded the elf seemed somehow duller than usual. She narrowed her eyes at him a bit, trying to figure out why, then shook her head.

"Go get one of those rabbit carcasses I procured a few days ago for Cleopatra, please. She'll be in the attic."

"Yes, Mistress Magus. Kreacher understands the Mistress Magus. Does the Mistress Magus have any other requests for Kreacher?"

"No, Kreacher."

"Kreacher will see to Mistress Magus's request." She smiled and Apparated up to the attic, placing Cleopatra on the perch she'd set up for her, pushing the window open.

"Kreacher will be up with the rabbit in a little bit," she murmured as she untied the letter from the owl's left foot, scratching the ruff of feathers around her neck.

_'Troy,_

_I'll come pick you up from Grimmauld around 10:00; forgive my need to see you as soon as possible, but I did not realise you would be so enthusiastic. I must also beg your forgiveness for my romanticism; I am reserving the right to surprise you with our location._ Typical Elliot. She would be gnawed at by curiosity until he showed up, and her enthusiasm to put an end to that sensation would translate, in his mind, to enthusiasm towards him. Narcissist.

_It is ever my pleasure to be in your company. Until ten,_

_Elliot._

Troy rolled her eyes and tossed the letter, smile twisting wryly. She should probably figure out what to wear before anything else. She wrinkled her nose as she returned to her room, mulling over her – many – choices. She was going on a date – to where, she didn't know, but she knew Elliot would tell her if she required something for their date. It was summer, so she could pass on almost all of the troublesome but nevertheless striking furs, though she did distinctly remember bringing a light silk capelet in a rich chocolate brown trimmed with mink fur of a lighter shade...odd that that came to mind. She waved the closet open while mentally putting combinations together.

"Where did I – wait." She stepped away from the closet and rummaged through her trunk, eventually producing a doe brown off the shoulder peasant blouse with pale yellow and green embroidered flowers ringing the puffed sleeves' wrists and the neckline. She returned to the closet and found the capelet as well as the knee length pleated skirt, in pale green, tossing them on the bed and crouching to drag a pair of chocolate brown ankle boots, similar to those she'd worn the night of the riot, though these had embossed flowers twining from the toe up to the ankle, where they ringed the top. She continued her quiet, deliberate motions, dressing while humming Ring Around The Rosie, then pulling out a worn, unmarked box from her trunk, a small, sad smile materializing on her face. She flipped it open and slid on two heavy gold bangles that chimed delicately in defiance of their seemingly heavy form. These were followed by a pair of rustic flower earrings, each in dark wood inlaid with gold. Finally, she pulled out a battered locket, its metal indeterminable with age. She examined it, smile turning ever so bitter. She'd been given this locket by her father, along with the flask and the cane – he'd said nothing as he'd pressed them into her small hands. Now she could picture his weak, pained smile clearly. Now she knew the fear he'd been feeling. She slowly clasped the old locket around her neck, smiling with a bit of disgust at her trembling hands. She sighed and pulled on the boots, making a face at the way her socks bunched. She didn't understand socks; they seemed to have minds of their own more often than not, and that was far too often as it was. However, she did understand their appeal; there was something innocently delightful about the articles of clothing, however inexplicable it may be. She started at the knock at the door, summoning a brush to her hands as she moved forward.

"Troy? It's us." She nudged the door open and smiled a bit at the two nervous wizards. Harry noted the smile immediately and relaxed.

"You're feeling better?" She nodded, accepting the enthused hug from Draco – how was he so energetic so bloody early in the morning? She wasn't even fully awake!

"You're going on a date!" Oh gods. This. She winced.

"Yes, Draco, I'm going on a date-"

"Where?"

"I don't know, he didn't deem to tell me." Draco's eyes went wide, and he grinned, ducking Harry's gentle smack to the head.

"You are soooo getting laid! Don't hit me, you know I'm right!" Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's fiendish cackle and returned his attention to Troy, who was turning a rather adorable shade of pink, though her eyes were promising murder to Draco.

"Ignore him and have a good time." She sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"That shouldn't be a problem – I'd offer the same invitation, but you cannot very well ignore him while going out with him, can you?" He grinned.

"I could try." Draco made an odd, high pitched mewl of objection and flung his arms around Harry's neck.

"You _wouldn't,_ would you?"

"No Draco – you're cutting off my ability to breathe comfortably." He slowly untangled himself from the blonde, ignoring Troy's soft snort and murmur of, "Whipped.".

"You should probably go about your hour long morning ritual, shouldn't you?" He snorted.

"It does not take me an _hour._ "

"...You're right. Maybe two." The blonde threw up his hands and stalked back to Harry's room.

"You two have a good day."

"Tell Grayson I said hi."

* * *

"I'm moderately certain Auror Potter did not tell you to tell me he would rip my innards out and hang me from them if I hurt you." She smirked.

"You sure?" Elliot chuckled, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"Given my knowledge of his temper...no." She laughed and threaded her arm through his, grinning a little when he pulled her closer, dropping his head to nuzzle her hair gently.

"So...will you tell me _now_ where we're going?"

"Mm...somewhere – bright."

"Och! That could be anything!" He twirled one of her curls around his finger, smirking absently again.

"Darling, given your knowledge of the world, you should know it is no such thing. Think on it." She paused, lifting her head from his shoulder as she watched him leaf through a brochure in the international Portkey center he'd brought them to.

"You're taking me to Paris?" She wasn't sure why she was surprised; given that it was Elliot, who seemed to be a gushing romantic at heart and probably had a soft spot for France from his school years, she shouldn't have been. And yet, the gesture warmed her. She mentally scolded herself for the reaction, blushing lightly as she gently slapped his arm.

"Hopeless romantic." He snorted.

"I cannot help who I am." She shook her head, smiling and tracing small patterns on his forearm.

"Have you a specific venue we will be frequenting? Paris is not small."

"I actually took time to plan our trip, dearest." She feigned surprise.

"Elliot Grayson, plan ahead? Dear me, what will become of us?" He rolled his eyes, freeing his arm to twine it around her waist and hug her close.

"You tell me, Troy – what will become of us?" The mirth twinkling in her eyes faded and she sobered, meeting his dark eyes, no longer worried that he would see the fear that had festered for so long in her heart.

"I don't know, Elliot – I really don't."

* * *

"Draco, I already told you about five times, we're late!" The blonde dragged his fingers through his thick hair and frowned. It simply refused to cooperate, and now of all times! He fought the urge to grin like a lunatic and failed. They were going on a _date_! If it weren't for the fact that he only allowed so much mindless delight in his daily routine, he'd be dancing around in circles with a possibility of squealing at the thought. Of course, Harry had been clear that technically they were playing bait, but that didn't change the principle of the thing. He twisted a lock of his hair around his finger and frowned again. Why couldn't it cooperate just this _once-_

"Draco, you look great. Stop scowling at your hair." He spun on his stool and looked the brunette over. He was wearing a gift from Narcissa, a leather vest in black with blood red and silver dragons twined around one another on the back, their flames flickering across his shoulders if you were looking for them. Black jeans and a white shirt that somehow seemed to echo scales when the light hit it just right, and the gleaming diamond in his ear finished the ensemble, though Draco noticed with no little amusement that he was indeed wearing eyeliner. He left the stool to twine around him.

"You look wonderful."

"Mm. I'm me, I'm supposed to. You look delicious as well." Harry snorted.

"You practically dressed me, Draco." The blonde shrugged, nipping his earlobe gently.

"Why are you complaining about being late? No one's going to complain about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy being late anywhere – money and reputation do that."

"It's polite to arrive at the agreed upon time." He felt Harry part his hair and sat still while he braided it. He took a moment to be absolutely certain it was to his standards, ignoring Harry's eye roll, and sniffed.

"It will do. Now, where are we-" He blinked when Harry produced a gleaming key and handed it to him, searching for something else.

"Going." He blinked again and held the key up, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was a stylized mermaid – similar to the Muggle archetype, as opposed to the actual creature – bearing what appeared to be an aquatic take on a cornucopia.

"Harry...this...this is-"

"A key to a private car on Fortune's Depths, I know. I've had it for...about three years now, after I supposedly thwarted a terrorist attack on it." Draco shook his head, ever in awe of his modesty. That event he hadn't even needed the papers for; Nis hadn't stopped talking about it for at least a week, nor had anyone in Depravia or Purloined. Harry had, according to those in the know, been taking vacation time, been invited onto Fortune's Depths, an underwater train that circled the Mediterranean area, by a friend, and stumbled on the group intending on sinking the train, a cruise of sorts, complete with hotel, restaurant, and casino, for good. They'd panicked upon being faced by a bewildered Saviour of the Wizarding World, and Harry had reacted entirely by reflex. When they'd found them, the entire group was bound a gagged, and Harry was reading their orders, sprawled nonchalantly on a couch, drinking wine.

The grateful owners, a brother/sister duo by the names of Amber and Loki Triach, apparently gave him the key as compensation, though that information wasn't made public.

"...Exotic. I don't think I've ever been on the Fortune's Depths."

"I know. I thought about this for a while, I couldn't think of anything you probably hadn't already experienced more than once." Draco pouted.

"I cannot help it that my parents insisted on spoiling me, and upon become an adult, I came into a large amount of money and had no clear path in life." The brunette shrugged, reclaiming the key and pressing a small, ovular gem into his hand.

"Keep that on you; I need to be able to find you at all times, alright?" He examined the dull gray stone and nodded, noting the small loop at the top. Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him forward.

"We have a train to catch, dear."

* * *

Mallory flipped through another file. The murders had stopped abruptly around the world, and more and more bodies were piling up all over London, closer and closer to Depravia and Grimmauld than ever before. He dropped the file and dragged a hand across his eyes.

"Damn it all."

"Auror Mallory? Mrs. Malfoy is here with our informant, sir." He looked up at the aide peering around his door. He waved him away.

"Send them in." He re-knotted his tie and dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to look like he wasn't dead on his feet. He couldn't remember his last full meal, let alone his last full night of sleep that was actually restful. The door opened again even as he rose to greet them.

Narcissa Malfoy looked the same as always; perfectly composed and untouchable, unflappable. Her companion was roughly the same height as Mallory remembered Lucius being – possibly an inch or so taller, at least three inches taller than Potter was. His attire was somber at best; dark suit, expensive and well made, shoes of similar ilk. Iron gray hair with a few chocolate brown streaks littered throughout was brushed away from his face, pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his head. He bore a long scar down the right side of his face, running from his temple down his face to bisect his cheekbone. According to his file, he had a total of three tattoos – one covering his back and two on either arm, exactly where the Dark Mark would be on an ex-Death Eater. He couldn't see either, but he did see his trademark ring, famously based on the Pillar of Heaven crest. One could possibly overlook the scar, the ring, the militant stance, even the mismatched eyes – one green, one brown – but it was impossible to look away once one met those eyes. He had the eyes of a snake, Mallory thought absently.

"Malachai Del Toro." The man offered his hand, and managed not to wince when icy skin touched his own. A whispery voice, at odds with his powerful build and aura, left his mouth.

"Auror Mallory. I understand you have a dilemma."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got waaaaaay out of hand.


	11. Paris Holds The Key

Anyone who knew anything about Malachai Del Toro knew, as a general rule, three things; he had once been part of the League of Temperance, and infamously retained the majority of his views from those days; he was rich, powerful, and not to be crossed; and he had suffered an inexplicable accident that stole his dark, rich voice, leaving behind a chilling, whispery ghost of the powerful original. He'd, apparently, been bitten in the throat by a small, magical member of the asp family, and rather than dying, as the majority of those who were bitten did, he survived with the smallest of scars and his new, equally famous voice.

"I was informed that you wrote your daughter, who has been assigned to this case with Auror Potter. This could have been a serious breach of confidentiality."

"But it was not." He hated that he was so easily disarmed.

"That was not the point, but as you say, it did no harm, so I will overlook it. We are dealing with a lunatic who is apparently a Pillar of Heaven fanatic. We don't know where to look next, and we hoped you might be able to help us understand this person before he...well, perhaps I should explain the rest of my dilemma." He gestured to a pair of chairs and seated himself, watching the two purebloods move in unconscious unison, seating themselves fluidly.

"The murderer recently revealed interest in Auror Potter – it was unexpected, but we thought it might make it easier to track him. The first two notes I confiscated; he hasn't seen them. The third one was innocuous enough, except he gave us – well, Potter – an ultimatum; catch him by the end of the month, or..."

"Or?"

"He said, or your life is forfeit, but I cannot help but think he didn't mean he'd kill Harry. The...the following note tells me otherwise."

"The following note?"

"It's not so much what he said as what was on the note itself." He flipped open the file, leafed through it until he found the report in question, and pushed it to the formidable man, who produced a set of thin rectangle glasses with a plain wire frame and slid them on. Malachai's eyes scanned the words impassively.

"I see." He slowly slipped the glasses off, eyes locking with Mallory's.

"Where is Auror Potter now?"

"I instructed him to play bait for the day with Mrs. Malfoy's son."

"My daughter?"

"I understand she is with a friend." His eyes didn't even flicker before they returned to the file.

"Tell me, Auror Mallory – who is your medical examiner?"

"Edward Leather."

"I must speak with him immediately." He rose, dismissing Mallory without another word.

"Narcissa, thank you for opening your home to me. Perhaps you would..."

"I can contact Harry and Draco. I imagine Troy will be more likely to join us with many around." He nodded slowly.

"Well. I bid you adieu until tonight." He pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand and strode out, his movements barely marred by the slight limp in his left leg. Mallory watched him go, feeling slightly off kilter as he activated a small buzzer that would alert Eddie to the American's coming.

* * *

Eddie yelped and swore when the buzzer went off, snatching up the Muggle cellphone he'd altered for the job.

"Damn it Mallory, what – no, no one's down here but me and our dead. What? No, I'm not ready to see anyone, why didn't you stall him? Have I ever – of course I've never met Malachai Del Toro-"

"Edward Leather?" He swore again.

"I have to go." He snapped it shut and tossed it, turning to stare up at the tall man. _Ridiculously tall man._

"Malachai Del Toro, right?"

"Yes."

"Call me Eddie." The tall man arched a gray eyebrow and nodded regally, while Eddie eyed his perfectly trimmed goatee enviously. Not every man could pull that look off; of course, seeing that this was a Del Toro, he shouldn't be surprised. The medical examiner rolled his eyes and strode past the table Dorian Irwinson's body lay on, pausing briefly to cover him with a sigh. Bastard was taking out law enforcement now, and even though he hadn't been able to stomach the man, that death was one he wouldn't wish on anyone.

"The markings mentioned in the report; could you perhaps summarise them? I am loathe to give you more work than you already have."

"We're all pulling double our weight, sir; I can handle it." He was without a witty comment! Ye gods, _why_? Why now of all times? The tall American moved past him; Eddie noted the slight limp with confusion. Of all the things he'd heard about the man, that he had a limp was not one of them. He walked as if he'd born it for years, and more, it would appear he was better used to walking with a cane. The M.E. shook his head and led the taller man to one of the temples – one of the original victims.

"The first few victims all had stars etched into various parts of their bodies; starting from the back of the neck, spiraling around the body with each new victim, the final one – a Magus – on the forehead." Malachai froze.

"He's killed a Magus? Was he close to Auror Potter?"

"Ah...they worked together often after he arrived." Piercing dual coloured eyes did not waver from his face – dissecting him, trying to determine what he wasn't telling him. He swallowed hard.

"Magus Irwinson and Auror Potter did not get along, sir. ...Most of us didn't get along with him." The slow nod did nothing to ease Eddie's discomfort; one was not supposed to speak ill of the dead, and he had a feeling that had he told Del Toro of Irwinson's previous relationship with his daughter while the male Magus was still alive, his death would have been far more gruesome – and they wouldn't have found the body.

"This – does not bode well. I understand that Mallory has formulated a trap of sorts." There was the gaze again; it reminded Eddie of looking into a doll's eyes – unsettling in their blank facade, a mockery of the rich emotions found in the living. It was almost as if Del Toro was hollow. He fought the urge to twitch.

"He wants Auror Potter to play bait for the next two days; after that, we hope we'll have lured him out, into a semi-secured area."

"This area being?"

"The club Depravia, run by one of our informants-"

"Draco Malfoy. Narcissa referred to the idea that this man may have some connection to Depravia, or Draco himself – has that been factored into Mallory's little plan?" Eddie winced.

"Ah – I'm not sure-" He was cut off by the doors slamming open and Del Toro limping out.

"Tell Mallory to still his idiotic plan now. Those marks are made only in the case of a holy end game. I will be in touch." Eddie gaped after him, cold lightning running down his spine. If there was anything Eddie _dis_ liked, it was cryptic messages, and that, along with the many, many marks on the bodies, the devolving notes, left him in state of blank despair. How, exactly, were they supposed to fight a madman convinced he had some god given right to their Saviour?

* * *

Troy twirled and slowed to a stop, eyeing her reflection wryly.

"Trust him to be so eager to lavish attention on me in such expensive forms." The ancient personal shopper laughed, pushing some of her snowy hair out of a strangely youthful face.

"Ah – Lord Grayson, he is of a line of men who change little. His father, his father's father – they all favoured this manner of courting." She shook her head, smiling.

"They have the money to spend, no? Let them; when they are not giving it away to any charity that catches their fancy, they are accumulating more wealth than they can use in a hundred lifetimes." She shook her head again and looked the tall American over critically.

"Yes, this is the dress for you – but not this colour." She waved a hand negligently at the royal blue.

"No, far too cold a colour. We need...a red." She disappeared out of the dressing room, murmuring under her breath. Troy shook her head and touched her hair absently, smiling a little. The old witch had styled it for her, letting it fall over her shoulders in stiff curls, not quite ringlets, but nevertheless rigidly styled, most of it twisted into a bun at the back of her head and the rest allowed to cascade over her left shoulder in a waterfall of shining curls. Her original clothing was sitting in a hotel room, payed for in full by Elliot, apparently for however long they needed it – which simply translated into a hideous amount of money spent for almost no reason, as far as Troy was concerned. With that original ensemble was all of her jewelry, save for the locket, replaced with delicate silver earrings that mimicked stylistic hummingbirds, all diamonds and silver filigree – the only colour was the drop of ruby both hummingbirds held in their claws. An equally delicate chain of diamonds adorned her right wrist. She sat and lifted her foot to eye her new shoes. These, she decided, were Elliot's crowning achievement. Peep toe heels in silver, three diamonds ran down the outside of each one. The top of each shoe was the infinity symbol, and the heels themselves were transparent, with deep red drops suspended inside each one. The diamonds were tiny, surrounded by silver thread that formed a simple braided border around each shimmering teardrop shaped stone. She rolled her ankle absently, smiling a little when those tiny diamonds captured the light and threw rainbows up her ankle and across the area around her foot.

"Here it is!" The tiny woman swept back in, holding up the dress in question. The colour, at first, seemed to be a darker shade of coral, but Troy realised it was closer to a dark rose or bright red. The older witch beamed.

"The colour is American Rose. Try it, try it! I am sure the Lord Grayson will be delighted." If the irony didn't kill him first, Troy was sure he would be too.

* * *

The lord in question was feeling, rather frustratingly, extremely nervous. This case of nerves did not surprise him in the least, but he had hoped it would disappear after a few moments. Alas, whatever part of his brain controlled this reaction cared little for his opinion on the matter, and increased the frequency at which the butterflies in his stomach batted their wings the longer he was with Troy. He fought the urge to wring his hands, muttering under his breath while pacing, waiting impatiently for Troy to reappear. He knew Penelope was something of a perfectionist, especially when she was dressing other people, but it had been a while since they'd left-

"My lord, your lady is ready." He whipped around, trying to recover his composure and seem as if he had not been pacing the floor like a caged lion, only to lose what little composure he still had to gape at the vision on the stairs above him.

Penelope, in her wonderful meddling way, had done her hair; the stiff curls were pulled into a bun, with a small portion cascading over her left shoulder. Both shoulders were bare; filmy, fluttery sleeves rested off each one, scalloped edges forming miniature waterfalls of translucent fabric. The high-waisted bodice echoed a heart shape, or perhaps butterfly wings; the center morphed from ruching into a slim waterfall that ran into the skirt, a light A-line form that fell just below her knees. The simplistic design, coupled with the light, barely there smile and soft blush, lent itself to an image of sweet innocence – until he noted those mischievous, sparkling eyes, the delicately arched eyebrow.

"Ah – I am without words."

"Perhaps your wits will return with time." She glided down the steps after a brief farewell to Penelope, and gazed at him imperiously, expectantly. He chuckled softly, taking her hands and pressing light kisses to the back of each one, eyes never leaving hers.

"Perhaps I do not need them." She laced her fingers with his, eyes softening.

"Thank you, Elliot – your extravagance is unnecessary, but nevertheless appreciated." The couple barely noticed the departure of the scant staff; soft words were exchanged, but for most of the time, they simply stood in companionable silence. There was no urgency, a sharp contrast to the last few weeks, and that calm was one they relished. Finally, that short, seemingly endless moment had to end, and though he was loathe to initiate it, Elliot gently pulled away, smiling.

"We'll never get anywhere if I just stand here staring at you." She laughed, shaking her head and striding past him.

"Then I suggest you tell me where we're going, darling, lest I become bored and run off." He snorted, crossing the distance between them to pull her into his arms, nuzzling her ear.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh?"

"You wouldn't – what could you find in any other that I don't already have?" She laughed again, leaning into his embrace.

"So arrogant."

"Absolutely enthralled." He pulled away again, reluctant again to leave her for more than a moment and silently berating himself for it. Never before had anyone effected him so, and he was at a loss. Picking up the ankle length cloak, lined and trimmed with pale fur, he turned to admire her again, feeling ever so sappy.

* * *

Troy was silently tearing herself apart inside for this weakness; every touch, from the slightest brush of their fingers when he handed her the cloak, to the warmth of his body and the sensations running through her palm as she rested her hand on his arm upon exiting the shop, sent hot bolts of sense enhancing lightning through her body, making her ultra sensitive to everything about him. Her mind gave her no escape; every moment was spent relishing in his presence, obsessing over the happiness blooming in her heart. They had done nothing more than walk down the street, and this cloying, intense, breathtaking sensation left her feeling off kilter, but she would do nothing to end it.

"My lord, my lady, a sighing moon blesses your night!" Elliot paused, winding an arm around Troy's waist, smiling at the wizard who had spoken.

"Of what do you speak, sir?" The wizened man gestured to the sky, smiling.

"The lady moon, she once had a lover, and on nights like these, so clear are the skies, you can see her smiling eyes even now. These nights, they are a blessing to lovers, old and new." Troy blushed furiously, nodding and trying in vain not to bury her face into Elliot's shoulder. Both men chuckled, Elliot stroking her hair gently before pressing a few Galleons into the other wizard's hand.

"Thank you for passing on that blessing, sir, and have a good night." Polite farewells exchanged as they moved further down the street, towards an enormous garden, magically grown to devour an old courtyard that was proving difficult to maintain. A small part of it remained, amidst delicate flowers, dark shrubbery, and twisted trees, a few ancient, crumbling benches and surprisingly well tended statues littered throughout. A small group of musicians, accompanied by a singing couple, had gathered beneath a statue of the Muses, and was providing entertainment to those few who hadn't sought out the more sophisticated attractions such as the opera and horse-drawn carriage rides. Lively songs, both of Muggle and wizarding origin, filled the air, even as dancers drifted across the impromptu dance floor. Shimmering witchlights adorned the greenery, in tandem with fairy bells hidden throughout the garden. A sweet, whimsical atmosphere reigned, in defiance of the rest of Paris's grandeur. Elliot felt himself drawn to this little paradise and absently discarded his earlier plans, pulling Troy after him into the garden. She absently discarded her cloak as they entered, leaving it near a substantial pile of similar garments.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the impromptu lovefest kind of man, Elliot."

"I blame it on you – my mind is muddled beyond belief." Playful banter, sharp but affectionate, never ceased to flow between them, even as they wandered the garden arm in arm, commenting on statuary and sharing in companionable laughter with other wanderers, whittling the night away without thought. They eventually drifted into the center of the area, where the dancers and musicians had gathered for the night. They arrived just as a new song began; warm, inviting guitar strains floated on the wind, and the man's husky voice rose with the notes, merely humming at first, before singing lowly, easing into the song.

_Stay with me baby, and that's all I ask of you._

_And I know someday, you won't remember the way that this moment feels to you._

_Don't let it go, don't turn your back on what you think you know._

_You never know, you know. Don't leave it alone, 'cause I need you, to cling to._

Elliot accepted Troy's offered hand with a laugh, letting her lead him onto the 'floor', where she promptly gave him the lead again, grinning. He shook his head at her play, dropping a hand to her waist even as their right hand curled into one another and she rested her left on his shoulder. While their movements were trained, they were nothing like the stiff, formal dances they would have attended; instead, they flowed into each step, their motions unconsciously graceful, flexible.

_'Cause you are my kind. You're all that I want, here in this life, until we are gone._

_Our breath and our skin, our hearts and our minds._

_They're one and the same, you are my kind._

Dancers twined around one another, passed each other by a breath yet barely noticed the others – their eyes locked on one another, and they were no different.

_Well, call on me, baby, if you should ever need someone, to help get your head straight._

_I'll be your resident all night, sure am glad just having you around._

_Well, all I know, when you find love you never let it go. You never know, you know._

_Without you, I'm lost. I get scattered; I'm shattered._

Twirling, whirling, moving in and out, no boundaries to cross, nothing between them, nothing to keep them out. Grips tighten as they move closer, close enough that their breath mingles, eyes locked on one another, all emotions pouring forth.

_My love and my life; my heart and my soul; I need you tonight,_

_Your love makes me whole. And it's all I can stand, until you come home._

_I need you tonight, 'cause you are my kind._

_I need you tonight, 'cause you are my kind._

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, you are my kind._

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, you are my kind..._

Whether they realised the dance had ended or something in them led them away, they drifted out of the bright light and into the shadows. Troy's hands rested lightly on his chest as she stared up into his eyes, breathing a little harder than earlier, though the dance had been anything but difficult. Elliot's eyes were almost entirely black, his pupils were so dilated. He slowly took her hands in his, lacing his fingers with hers, eyes never leaving hers. No words seemed adequate or even appropriate; they just stood in the shadows together, the only sounds being the faint music, their own breathing, and their pounding hearts, seeming to beat in time with one another. She stepped closer, pulling her hands away to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

* * *

Neither knew how long they stood there, and neither one particularly cared; there was an odd tension now, something trying furiously to get out, its fervor dizzying. Troy pulled the cloak a little closer to her body.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we might have dinner now – I made reservations for earlier, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Why not?" He laughed.

"I reserved the entire restaurant; it belongs to a friend, and he doesn't mind my extravagance; given that he is making a profit in the process, he might go so far as to demand it." She snorted, wanting to scold him, but at the same time knowing it would be a fruitless endeavor.

"No censure?"

"You know me well enough to expect that, at least." He chuckled, pulling her into a one-armed hug, the gesture feeling odd to both of them in light of their earlier intimacy. His warm breath ghosted over her ear, and she giggled in surprise, leaning away. He continued to push her backwards, trailing his fingers over her sides, causing her to squeal with surprise at the feather light touches, squirming and laughing as he accosted her ticklish body. She gasped for air and was further unable to escape when he captured her lips with his own, pinning her to the wall of the nearest building, stealing her breath with one bruising kiss after the other, eventually dropping his head to her neck, nuzzling and kissing the hollow while she struggled to pull air into her lungs, fingers curling around his biceps.

"Elliot..." Her whine was breathy and weak, and she yelped when he laughed into her throat, lifting his eyes to hers. They glowed with delight, and she shivered, arching into him.

"Something wrong, darling?"

"Grayson, stop accosting her outside my restaurant and get your ass in here before I order Telemann to beat you!" He laughed again, pulling away as he pulled her to his side, facing the short, muscular redhead glaring at him from the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Ivy – I suppose I got carried away. She's really quite adorable." Troy managed to just curb the urge to punch him in the arm, glaring at his smirking eyes. He pulled her after him, ignoring her mutters.

"As for Telemann beating me – the man would be more likely to carve my stomach out." The short man waved his hand negligently, gesturing for them to come in. Troy picked at Elliot's sleeve absently, eyes wandering around their new surroundings. Dark wood paneled walls, covered in dancing etchings of nymphs, fauns, centaurs, and a variety of woodland creatures, surrounded the first room – a large dining room where most of the public ate. Pillars in dark stone ran down the middle of the room in two rows, and six fireplaces lined each wall. The next room he led them into was similarly arranged, but smaller; enormous mirrors took the place of windows, and the fireplaces were fewer and farther apart. The redhead led them to a table near the middle of the room and whistled; immediately, a short, cherub-like boy appeared from what Troy assumed was the kitchen and crossed the distance between them, executing a short, informal bow with a smile. The redheaded man nodded to him.

"This is my son, Michel. He will see to your needs during your stay. I am Ivan McGregor Telemann, Stefan Telemann's husband and co-owner of this establishment." He folded his arms, scowling at Elliot.

"You _will_ behave while you are here, or so help me I will turn you out on your ear – _she_ may stay, and not a penny will be paid by her. Do you understand?" Elliot's grin hadn't wavered, and did not when he nodded. He shook his head.

"Then I will leave you in Michel's capable hands until my husband begins to fuss." He strode out with that and a sharp bow, leaving them to order.

* * *

The dinner passed quietly; the courses began to melt together in her mind, though their distinct tastes stood apart. Nothing about those moments truly stood out – they were both sorting through their thoughts through food and small talk, not really listening to each other. The night began to wane, and Troy felt, for the first time since they'd arrived, a sense of claustrophobia that stubbornly clung to her even after she found her way onto a balcony, leaning out to stare across the barely visible barrier between Wizarding and Muggle Paris. Anchored by the Eiffel Tower, it surrounded the city, dissolving in a few spots underground, the only connections between both worlds that were left untended.

"Troy? What is it?" That plainly worded question put her on edge; Elliot was no a plain spoken man. He was a man of elaborate, twisted words that gave no hint to their true meaning in their original form, a man who thrived on elegance and flattery, given or received. That tone in itself spoke to a graveness he was not usually possessed of.

"I'm feeling a bit faint..." Warm arms slid around her waist and she immediately relaxed into his arms, resting her head on his chest.

"You haven't overexerted yourself, have you?" More normal a tone; teasing, affectionate.

"I'm...fine." She stiffened a little when he gently turned her, tilting her head up to meet her eyes.

"Troy, we need to talk." She bit her lip, leaning back a bit, eyes skittering across the small balcony, searching for any point but him to look at. Strong fingers caught her chin and again forced her to meet his eyes.

"Why are you still fighting this, Troy? It's like every time I try to get close to you, you throw up some barrier, usually cloaked with dry wit, but you are a master of deflection – how am I supposed to become anything to you if you won't let me in?" She froze completely, fingers curled into the arms of his jacket, eyes wide, lips parted – she'd meant to say something, anything, but she was trapped, and she was fighting her panic instinct. Alternate jolts of lightning and ice sliced down her spine; something, pain and anger and rawness, writhed in her stomach, knotting itself there, burning with some inner poison she's yet to expel – it's that gnawing doubt that she's always had, a certainty that she is somehow unworthy.

Elliot studied her expression, watching the fear and doubt surge into her over-bright eyes, and swallowed hard at the furious reaction in his heart. Knowing he'd brought that pain to her twisted his gut in a less than pleasant fashion, but his own frustration and apparently inescapable attraction to her left him helpless to stop the hurtful flow of words.

"I know you're hurting inside, but you won't let anyone close enough to help you! You're killing yourself, cutting yourself out of the fabric of life itself – don't you _care_? Don't you realise that we love you? Damn it, Troy, there's so much to live for! There's Harry, Draco – there's _me_. I'd give anything just to be the one you confide in, the one you hold dear, even if I'm not your one and only." He let go of her, stepping back, dragging his fingers through his hair, exhaling noisily.

"The longer I'm with you, the more obsessed I become – when I'm away from you, it's like you're always on my mind. I can't stop loving you." She inhaled sharply and he responded with a bitter, barking laugh.

"Yes, I love you – no matter how I say it, no matter how I twist it to make it sound like a joke, I really do love you. It's tearing me up inside, knowing that you just don't know – you don't realize how much I love you, how much anyone loves you." He dropped his hands, frustration rolling off of him in waves.

"You'll never change, will you?" She felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and bit her lip harder, struggling against the burning sensation in her throat. He turned back to her, gripping her shoulders, staring into her eyes with a desperation that sent waves of terror through her.

"You'll never let anyone close – you probably threw up the walls again when you realized you'd let Harry in." His laugh was raw.

"Anyone would let him in – but why can't you see that it's okay? Why can't you see that we _want_ to love you? What do we have to do?" Tears glowed in his eyes, and Troy struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat, hating and loving the man in front of her who mirrored her soul so perfectly.

"We won't last if you can't give us a chance, Troy." He leaned his forehead against hers, hands going slack."

"We won't last if you're so willing to self destruct."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhg, this stupid chapter took forever. -stabs it- It's just fluff and cliché. Accidental mangled RENT line in there too.


	12. Sympathy for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closest thing to smut you'll find in this fic coming right up.

Harry started when Draco kissed him awake, trailing his fingers down his sides, resting on his hips as he leaned into the kiss, kneeling between Harry's legs. He broke away to nibble his way down his throat, smirking as Harry began to purr, sliding his hands up his back and burying his fingers in his hair, mewling a little when the blonde scraped his teeth over his Adam's apple, shifting and draping himself over the brunette completely. Harry gasped and bucked up against him, whimpering when Draco began to lazily grind their erections together, relishing in the sounds his lover was making and the sensations jolting through his body as Harry squirmed. A particularly forceful buck shifted him off of Harry, and in one breathless moment, he was pinned beneath him, staring up into over-bright green eyes, breathing hard.

"Good morning, Harry." He bit back a cry of surprise when Harry dropped his head to his throat, tracing his collarbone with his tongue, hissing words of affection in Parseltongue against his skin, biting his shoulder gently, soothing the angry flesh with gentle kisses. Draco sighed and relaxed into the mattress, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair, eyes fluttering closed. The heat that had been plaguing him from the moment he woke was retreating against the onslaught of sweetness the other man's touch evoked, bits of ice laced lightning that skittered beneath his skin with every touch. He massaged his scalp absently, releasing him to return the hungry kiss Harry pressed to his mouth, twining his arms around his shoulders. The kisses shortened, lightened, morphing from the deep, breath stealing kisses to light, barely touching lips that almost didn't qualify as kisses at all. Eventually they stopped altogether, both men staring into each other's eyes, Draco releasing Harry's shoulders to twine his fingers with his, eyes saying everything he was too afraid to voice out loud. Harry rested his forehead against his, smiling a little, untangling his fingers from Draco's to lay his hand on his chest, whispering the words he'd once sworn he'd never open his heart enough to say.

"I love you."

* * *

Narcissa was not a woman prone to hysteria, hand-wringing, and fainting spells. She disdained such acts and expressions of what some men dared call the 'past times of the fairer sex', viewing them as a show of weakness unbecoming in anyone. She could not, however, dispel this discomfort, this numbing worry that twined around her heart and settled there like a blanket of gray snow.

"Narcissa?" Malachai had not been able to lose that accent that had lingered in his family even after so many centuries away from Italy, even after the accident. Those almost hissing syllables, combined with that accent, gave his voice a haunting, somewhat dreamy quality. She'd once fancied herself attracted to Malachi; the idea wasn't outrageous, but she'd eventually come to understand that her attraction to Lucius and their compatibility was more desirable. Malachai was too – remote. He was, as Lucius had once said, a throwback to the ancient Romans, lightning and stone bound by flesh and blood. She met his mismatched eyes, noting the crow's feet – barely there – and the weariness that sat like lead there, and most of all, the small redheaded child clinging to his hand, eyes wide and almost glowing with trust. She smiled, resting a hand on the child's head.

"Hello, Joan." She waved shyly, pressing her face into Malachai's leg. After the riot, she'd been even more reticent, barely even speaking to her parents. Hermione's terror that she could possibly be more traumatized than they'd thought was soon dispelled by her immediate attachment to Malachai. She tended to speak constantly to him, though constant contact with Malachai and Narcissa had morphed her speech patterns to something much more mature than she actually was. However, shyness stilled reigned supreme, especially with the posting of the Auror team Timothy had sent to them. Speaking of which…

"Joan, dear, have you seen Lorcán?" The small girl shook her head, curly pigtails bouncing adamantly. She sighed.

"Where—"

"Thoth and Minerva bless it, where the _hell_ did he go?"

"I honestly don't think they care, Val. Lorcán will be fine. He's a lizard on steroids." The two speakers materialized on the other side of the hall, heading towards them. The shorter of the two was ducking a blow to the back of the head from the taller woman, dancing out of the way, smirking. The taller one had eschewed the usual Auror uniform for an all black ensemble featuring a leather trench whose back was graced by a pair of skeletal, serpentine dragons twisting around a blood red full moon, and boots that ended just below the knee, laced with silver and red laces that seemed to twist and weave like snakes through the mouths of the six sneering silver skulls, three on each side. She stalked down the hall, obviously frustrated, seeming to bring a blast of icy wind with her, though Narcissa knew from experience that the trench would have billowed regardless, just like her sleek ponytail wouldn't shift at all, remaining as immaculate as ever. Someone had once suggested that immaculate appearance was kept to showcase the two ear cuffs she wore; on the right ear, an elegant baroque style in white gold with delicate gold roses that seemed to drip from the metal, a single, slightly larger rose dangling from the lobe. The left ear bore a platinum cuff that resembled a rose vine and corkscrewed through the cartilage and ended piercing the lobe with a rose stud that was charmed to match her nail colour. Each thorn on the vine appeared to have a single drop on blood on the tip.

They stopped in front of them, the shorter woman collapsing with an odd lack of grace next to the wall, leaning her head back to stare up at the three taller people. Her taller counterpart folded her arms, revealing the fingerless black gloves, embroidered with a Latin saying – Veneratio Prosapia – around the wrist and the ends, in a neon green that matched the colour of her neon, almost obnoxiously so, nails that tapped a constant staccato beat on her arm. At her throat was a choker of crushed green velvet, a few shades darker than the green of her nails, from which an ivory cameo hung, the expression stoic with hints of frustration.

Her partner too had chosen not to wear the Auror uniform, opting instead for pale jeans covered in sketches and doodles – some moving, some not – and a top Narcissa was still rather uncertain about. Cream and long sleeved, the shoulders had been cut open, making it somehow both high necked and off the shoulder, revealing a small, circular silver scar on the left shoulder. Over this, much to Narcissa's alarm (despite the woman assuring her it was pseudo and did nothing to inhibit her breathing), was a corset in gold and dark green leather, the laces up either side held by tiny skeletal gold hands that occasionally shifted and even waved once. The macabre nature of these two was one of the first things Timothy had warned her about, but she was nevertheless disturbed, especially by the shorter of the two, who was a self-styled, somewhat grotesque mockery of a highborn lady. A nose piercing that echoed a miniature rose, white with a single, tiny drop of red, matched a similar tongue piercing, though the tongue piercing was held by yet another skeletal hand; chandelier earrings, still following the skeleton hands motif, chimed quietly from her ears. Each hand held a tiny old fashioned clock in gold. Her footwear seemed less suited to Auror work than her partner's; boots of the same height in white and green, with golden wings unfurling from the heel. She wore gold and emerald slave bracelets instead of fingerless gloves and her nails were not painted.

"Aurors Tanner, Jones." Malachai nodded even as the shorter woman, Jones, wrinkled her nose.

"Creed." Her partner rolled her eyes.

"Lady Malfoy is being polite."

"With no impudence or insult intended, Mrs. Malfoy, isn't it rude not to call someone by the name they request? And you're starting to slip into priss mode, _Priscilla_." The taller woman stiffened, and the tapping nails stopped abruptly. Narcissa watched her normally brown eyes pale to an electric blue, narrowed, and a soft hiss erupted from her throat, teeth baring to reveal greatly lengthened canines. Creed yawned, revealing her own formidable set of canines, and stretched lazily, rising with grace that had been lacking in her earlier descent, shaking her long brown curls out of her face.

"Oh, put them away, Val. No one cares about your admittedly considerable dental problems and name issues. However, I believe my point is made." She smiled a little at Narcissa.

"Again, no disrespect or insult intended – I just would prefer you called me Creed, and even though she defends you, Val prefers that or Valeria." She shrugged and ambled back down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Joan pulled on Malachai's hand and pointed after her, eyes questioning.

"Go on, little one. I am sure Auror Jones will not mind the company." He gently extracted his hand from hers and nodded in the direction the woman had disappeared in. The girl immediately ran after her, slowing only a little at Narcissa's immediate command of, "Walk!". Valeria shook her head, rubbing her jaw a little.

"I'm going to go look for Lorcán near the peacocks – call me when Potter shows, please." She didn't say anything after that, departing with a silence that was eerie even for a woman who had gone to school with Severus Snape.

* * *

Harry yawned again, trying in vain to cover it while Draco accepted Loki and Amber's effusive thanks for him, checking his watch for the third time.

"Loki, Amber, thanks again for having us, but we really have to go." Amber nodded rapidly, smiling widely (and reminding Harry unsettlingly of Nis).

"Of course, of course – we just won't ever be able to repay you—"

"And the key was fine, thanks." He smiled, slipping his arm around Draco's waist.

"We'll try to visit again soon enough. Have a nice day." Draco muffled a laugh by coughing carefully, letting Harry drag him onto the beach and Apparate them outside the Manor.

"That wasn't very nice, Harry."

"Do you want to meet this man or not?"

"…Not really." Harry snorted at Draco's almost sullen tone and pulled him in front of him, brushing a kiss across the bridge of his nose. The blonde wrinkled his nose in response, drawing a laugh out of the taller man.

"Found you." He looked up, watching the half vampire Auror slide off the roof and land lightly in a crouch, rising slowly and stalking across the small distance between them.

"Draco, meet one of the few Aurors who doesn't use magic and is arguably more deadly without it. Auror Valeria Tanner, Draco Malfoy."

"Charmed. Are you really a cross-dresser, or is it wishful thinking?" The blonde pouted a little.

"Is that all anyone cares about? Surely my debatable moral status isn't that entertaining." The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Your moral status isn't debatable, as far as I'm concerned, and since when does cross-dressing damage one's moral status anyway?" She paused, head tilted to the side, then loosed an earsplitting whistle, ignoring Harry and Draco's twin winces, eyes locked on something in the bushes. They rustled and instantly a bloodied albino peacock shot out of the foliage, a dark blur ricocheting after it, latching onto its back with a snarl and bringing it down, claws buried in its body. A triumphant yowl that was similar to a cat's left the small creature's body, but before it could sink its teeth into the body – as it undoubtedly had been preparing to do – Valeria strode across the yard and scooped it up, ignoring its thrashing and hissing, though it never once lashed out with claws or teeth.

"This is Lorcán." She held up the still hissing dragon, a small bundle of silver and dark green with equally dark red stripes, similar to a tiger's, and gleaming red eyes with silver pupils. Draco stared at the hissing miniature dragon, blood still smeared across its muzzle, teeth flashing every now and then. He nodded slowly, and barely opened his mouth to comment when he saw another blur, far larger than Lorcán, out of the corner of his eyes, and before he could say something to Valeria, it slammed into her back with a small keening noise that was barely heard over Val's yelp and Lorcán's yowl as he flew out of her arms and landed on his stomach, tail flipped over his head. The shorter woman 'meeped' and freed Valeria from her death hug, dropping into a crouch next to Lorcán.

"I'm sorry! Ani, are you okay?" Immediately, both women, as if Valeria hadn't been sneak attack hugged by the other, broke out into a sped up version of the Michael Jackson song (one of the many things Troy had introduced them to, with glee). Lorcán righted himself in a flash, scales ruffling and rising a little, like a disgruntled cat puffing up its fur, hissing at the two women, skittering back against Draco's legs, pupils growing to cover his iris, claws leaving furrows in the earth. Both women smirked at the hissing creature, unapologetic. Harry pried the small creature from the ground, soothing him with soft Parseltongue, ignoring Draco's glazing eyes and Creed's quiet translation under her breath. Eventually the dragon forgave his partner and glided the short distance to her arms, climbing onto her shoulders and draping himself around the back of her neck, purring. She stroked his head right between the two horns as she nodded to the shorter woman twirling a sun-gold laced brown curl around her finger, humming.

"This is my partner, Creed Jones. Creed—"

"Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy family fortune, prefers poultry to red meat, wears amber and rain scent on the hollow of his throat, behind each ear, and the inside of the left wrist, all sparingly, thank the gods. Good taste in clothing, doesn't particularly like wine, prefers hard liquor, and—" She paused her onslaught of information, sniffing delicately.

"Has been in the vicinity of someone with lead poisoning, though I can't say how recently." Draco stared at her, torn between being disturbed by the detail of her knowledge and fascination, because unless she'd lived with him or spied on him, she couldn't possibly know all of that to such small details as where exactly he wore the scent. Harry cleared his throat.

"Creed is a werecat, and they're generally more obnoxious about their abilities than werewolves, though they are considered less of a threat." He looked at Valeria.

"Valeria is half vampire; we don't know when she bonded to Lorcán. In fact—" He paused.

"How old _are_ you?" She gave him a flat stare, eyes sparkling with a particular brand of disdain Draco had thought died with the Roman Empire.

"Old." Creed burst into song at that, skipping up to the Manor, her voice floating back to them.

" _Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down…"_ Harry raised an eyebrow at that and Valeria's expression, and nodded to the signet ring on her middle right finger.

"I'd bet anything that isn't yours." Valeria's eyes sparkled mischievously even as her features morphed into the picture of innocence.

"I assure you, I received this ring legitimately." The eyebrow inched higher, etched with skepticism.

"Really?" She smiled down at it.

"Yep. I'm even the legitimate heir."

"How? Your family has been dead for longer than that ring has been around, if our research is anything to go on." Her smile turned slightly feral, and Draco noted the flash of blue in her eyes.

"I have the family's blood flowing through my veins." Creed's song got louder, and Draco felt twin chills go down his spine at Valeria's words and the lyrics hanging in the air.

* * *

If Creed had some sort of ability to see the future, she never hinted at it, but Draco couldn't help but wonder when they strode in and came face to face with a man more imposing than he'd ever met before – he honestly managed to out glare Sev, and he wasn't actually glaring at them. Perhaps he felt like he was being glared at because of the mismatched eyes – one a neon green, the other cool brown. He had a hunch as to who this might be, and when he spoke, he knew he was right.

"Auror Jones – kindly lower the volume at which you sing so joyously of death; a solemness, though not required, is preferred as dusk falls." The Auror seemed completely untouched by the chilling whisper, merely nodding and skipping off without another word, her partner following in silence as well, leaving Harry and Draco to face their new roommate's infamous father.

"Malachai Del Toro."

"Draco Malfoy; Harry Potter. A pleasure." Those eyes glinted, and Draco unconsciously inched closer to Harry.

"Tell me, if you could – how is my daughter?"

* * *

Troy winced at the cold that twisted around her body, tugging the fur-lined cloak closer and burying her face into Elliot's shoulder.

"You don't need to stay."

"Troy, you've said you're not certain you can face your father alone."

"I won't _be_ alone. I'll be with Harry, Draco, and the Weasleys."

"I just want to be sure." She laughed harshly and pulled away, hugging herself.

"I – I know. You've been a wonderful companion, and I thank you for the date – but like you said, it's unlikely we'll last." She rose onto her tiptoes to press a light kiss to his mouth, savoring the stolen warmth before it flitted away.

"We'll probably see each other soon. Don't worry about me."

"It's a hazard of affection in all its forms." He tightened his grip on her waist ever so slightly, searching her eyes earnestly.

"I spoke out of frustration. I think…I think if we _try_ , we could succeed, and Troy, I truly do want to try. I have struggled to express my feelings since we met, but any amount of words is inadequate. I'd like to be something more than an amusing acquaintance." She laughed, face turning pink from cold and a blush that refused to be held back, her eyes darting around, looking anywhere but at him as she struggled to contain her panic. Cool fingers caught her chin and forced her to look up.

"I'm not asking for a promise."

"But you want one."

"It would be nice." She shivered, pulling away again.

"I – I need time – now _really_ isn't a good time—"

"I know." He let go and stepped back, smirking a little.

"Just remember that if you return to America without so much as a goodbye, I _will_ come after you, and I have no doubt in my mind that Draco and Harry will assist me." She laughed, the sound watery, but the emotion was positive at least.

"I have no doubt…" He slipped an arm around her waist again and produced a handkerchief, pressing it into her hands as he led her up the way to the Manor. She dabbed at her eyes, glaring at the gleaming stones as if it was their fault she was so weepy lately. _I really need to work on that._ She snorted and shook her head, making Elliot pause while she produced a small mirror and checked her appearance. Satisfied, she calmly returned the handkerchief to him and straightened completely, eyes glowing with determination. Elliot smiled, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and moved away, preparing to return home.

"We'll call if we need you." He nodded.

"I'll be waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing for Creed and Valeria right now. Just so you know. They were supposed to be parody inserts and turned into mannequins.


	13. Labyrinthine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a wimpy and likely incorrect attempt at Italian endearments.

Hermione again made Gorman sit, searching in vain for something to distract him. Her two youngest were ultra sensitive to the emotional state of the people around them, and while the tense atmosphere was affecting everyone, it put Gorman into overdrive and made Joan shut down almost completely. The three Aurors were discussing politics with Narcissa and Malachai – or rather, Valeria and Harry were, with Valeria carrying on a separate conversation with Draco about accessorising and charms to assist in that past time. Creed was sprawled in the middle of the floor, Lorcán on her stomach, staring at the ceiling, chewing on her lip. Joan was similarly using her stomach for a pillow, petting Lorcán. The other three Weasley children were discussing Quidditch with their father while Patricia tried in vain to beat her father at chess.

"Narcissa? Harry? I'm back – Elliot's already gone home." Creed cracked an eyelid and yawned, shoving Lorcán off her stomach to land unceremoniously on his back, shooing Joan to her mother. Valeria watched her roll onto her stomach and rise fluidly to her feet, taking a stance that was undeniably hostile. Harry noticed the shift in behaviour from the moment she began to move.

"Troy – come in slowly." The door to the den swung open as Troy ignored his words.

"Why—" She yelped as the shorter woman launched herself at her, combat training kicking in as she moved back and to the side, barely dodging the hissing blur. Harry sighed, unperturbed by her behaviour.

"That's why. Creed, calm down – this is Troy. Creed!"

"Oi, fuzzball!" Even as Valeria's scold rang in her ears, Troy stared at the elongated fangs (of which she noticed the canines both had bands of gold etched with tiny Chinese characters and the smallest ruby on them) and the slightly shifted features, including morphed green gold eyes that now resembled a feline's, as opposed to a human's. The small whimper behind her broke her out of her stupor, just as another, much smaller blur shot across the room and latched onto the shorter woman's arm. Something flickered in those eyes and they returned to a normal human size, glittering with confusion as she shook the small dragon off her, completely unfazed by the bleeding bite wound.

"Augh…Joan, it's okay – everything's okay." She shook her head, the motion almost dog like, hands rising to her temples, when she stopped, staring at her hands, then looked up at Troy.

"I'd apologize, but I can't say you didn't deserve it for smelling like prey." The American gaped as the short woman stumbled past her and collapsed back on the floor, sprawling on her back and allowing the dragon who had just mauled her arm to return to her stomach. Joan inched back over to her, still trembling a little.

"Your…arm…" The werecat cracked one eyes, smiling almost bitterly.

"It's fine, kid – it'll heal in a few minutes." The small redhead looked at her mother, eyes wide.

"Fix it, Mommy." Hermione barely managed to contain a smirk at Creed's slight twitch.

"Joan, honey, Creed is a werecat – she can't be healed by human magic." Those eyes grew watery, and immediately Creed began to purr, trying desperately to assure the small human. Valeria sighed and beckoned to her partner.

"Come here, idiot feline." Gold green eyes shot open.

"Oh no – I am not letting you leech on me because you're under the impression your saliva can help. Parasite." Valeria looked slightly offended.

"It _would_ help, but I was insinuating that perhaps _my_ magic could be of help – I wouldn't bite you unless I was dying." The werecat raised the wounded arm.

"Look, Ma – no blood, no foul. Leave it alone." Narcissa shook her head at the two Aurors, rising.

"We will leave you here, Creed – I have no doubt it would be an exercise in futility to ask you to remove yourself from the warmth of the fire."

"Damn bent."

"Creed! That's _my_ term!"

"It's not as if at least three of us in this room aren't gay." She sighed and again pushed Lorcán off of her, rising shakily.

"I need to patrol anyway. I'll take the outer perimeter. You and Harry can do what you want." She disappeared from the room, and as if cued by this exit, the others trickled out slowly as well, Draco and Harry being the last to leave, offering their silent support to Troy as the door closed behind them. She forced herself not to wring her hands, turning to face her father for the first time in over a decade.

* * *

Malachai hadn't moved from the armchair beside the fire, facing towards it, half his face in shadow, the other half illuminated by flickering firelight, making his green eye blaze. Those long fingered hands rested lightly on the arms of the chair, right hand tapping absently, ring glinting in the light. Troy move forward slowly, sitting without thinking on the floor at his feet, resting her hands on his knee. He looked down at her, eyes weary and sad. She felt tears prick her own eyes and rested her forehead on his knees, voice cracking.

"Papa…" Cool fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look up into those eyes she hadn't seen for so long, barely remembered holding any emotion besides remote affection, so remote as to almost be patronizingly fond, a mockery of true love from a parent to their child.

"Rhiannon… _mio caro piccolo_ …" She felt tears streaming down her face, and dashed them away furiously.

"Papa, _why_? Why would you come now? I needed you so many times over the years, and you were never _there_!" She sniffed, grasping blindly for his hands.

"Did you think we couldn't protect ourselves? Grandmother Elvira, the cousins, my aunts? We would have been fine!" She swallowed hard.

"Mama…Mama loved you so much, Papa – she never stopped thinking of you, but you never came back. She always said you would – she always said you loved us, that you just needed time…Grandmother never believed it and she was right, you _never came back_. You barely wrote; we never knew where you were, if you were in good health, if you were happy." She stared at him, the anguish she had been harboring for so long finally leaving her completely – perhaps she would never have the father she'd always dreamed of, but she had Elliot, and if all else was lost, she'd finally found herself in the darkness she hadn't known was in her heart. The older man rose, pulling her to her feet.

"Rhiannon—"

"I know you said you were afraid for us, but we would have been fine! You never gave us a chance…" He pulled her close, letting her cry into his shoulder as he stroked her back gently, murmuring in Italian.

"I tried, once, to explain to your mother – it was around your ninth birthday. She said the same thing." He sighed.

"Bernadette was right, as you are now," he said softly, pulling away to look into her eyes, "but what was I to do? I am only human, piccolo. I did what I thought right to protect the ones I love." His eyes held a bone deep weariness she had seen once before in her grandmother, Tulia Del Toro. It had been sudden, and she'd never seen it again, but it chilled her blood to see it in her father. Tulia had attempted to commit suicide with the death of her husband, before she'd thrown Troy out, cursing her for bringing her "legacy of pain" to their family.

"I…was not raised by affectionate parents. I did not know how to cultivate a loving relationship, I did not know how to express love. It is only with age and loss that I have begun to learn." He held her hands gingerly, a small, sad smile appearing on his face.

"Again – I would beg your forgiveness. I do not know if you can; I would give anything to try to forge some relationship between us. I have neglected you, and I do not know what you have endured since I've been gone. I can only hope that with time, old wounds will truly heal and I could once again be part of your family, truly." She stared up at him, staring into those earnest eyes, memorizing his face, before wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, letting the last tears leave her at last.

"Oh, Papa…thank you…"

* * *

Draco padded down the hall, wondering why they didn't put tracking spells on small children, especially small children like Joan Weasley, who, both small and inquisitive, could disappear in an instant, without anyone noticing until minutes or even hours later.

"Joan?" He hadn't actually expected to hear the soft patter of her feet as she ran around the corner, hugging his legs, pointing frantically the way she came.

"What?"

"Someone…a sad man…is down there…" The constant pauses and incredibly soft tones made it difficult for him to understand, but eventually he convinced her to show him. Clinging to his hand, the other lingering near her mouth but never quite moving into the thumb sucking stage, she pulled him down the hall, nodding to the master bedroom Narcissa had shared with Lucius, now empty.

"In there…he was just standing there, so sad…he told me to go back to Mama, but I couldn't find her, and then he said you'd be there if I looked, so I came back…" Draco crouched next to her, ice creeping down his spine.

"Joan, what did the man look like?" She bit her lip.

"Like you."

* * *

Creed never saw anyone come in, and the alarms never went off; Narcissa was certain Joan had simply overheard them discussing Lucius and was creating ghosts in the shadows. They agreed this was plausible, but Creed and Valeria tightened security anyway, refusing to allow Harry to help.

"You are to play bait, and that's what you'll do. Just relax – it'll be fine." He'd been shooed to the room he shared with Draco (at Draco's insistence, and he hadn't seen any reason to complain) and ordered to just go to sleep (having two pairs of fangs bared at him certainly did not speed his retreat, if anyone asked). Night swept in on shadowed wings, but he was soon up and roaming the room again, restless. Draco was no better; they both agreed something felt wrong tonight. Draco had tried on numerous occasions to get both of them to relax, but eventually the need to see what was wrong reared its head again, and Harry told him to wait while he walked the three halls they were all staying in. By the time he reached the third hall, where Narcissa, Troy, and Malachai were, he was berating himself for being paranoid, when Valeria's scream for help rent the air, even as his eyes fell to Troy's room, the door just slightly ajar, but enough so that he feared the worse. He found nothing and no one in her room, but the window was open and there were a few signs of struggle. Looking out the window, he saw Valeria and an unconscious Creed below, Lorcán standing over her, wailing at the top of his lungs.

He reached the end of the hall even as Malachai rounded the corner, holding a small knife covered in dirt and smeared with the slightest amount of blood.

"Rhiannon left it in the wall – she was conscious enough to do that, at least. The werecat—"

"I'm heading there now. The Weasleys?"

"All fine, though I fear the smallest is greatly worried and strained by our fear." Harry nodded, jaw tight, eyes grim. They continued in silence, meeting everyone in the courtyard when Valeria knelt beside Creed, trying to wake her.

" _Damn_ it, you stupid cat! Wake up!" She shook her again and swore under her breath in Latin, snapping an order in the same language to Lorcán, who shot into the air, disappearing out of the courtyard.

"She's been drugged, but she did hit him – she has skin and a bit of blood under her nails, and she probably poisoned him." Ron blinked.

"Poisoned?"

"She coats her nails in a venom that is only activated when her blood mixes with it – which is why she has the scratch down her other arm. It's something only werecats make, and it only works for werecats as well, which means unless he has any of _them_ on his side, we can possibly track him." She continued searching for wounds.

"You said this guy generally uses an axe, didn't you Harry?"

"Yeah – but she's fine."

"It's hard to hit a werecat that doesn't want to die, Harry. She moves faster than most anything on earth – her sire was one of the original experiments, with a cheetah. I think he knew that, but he wasn't prepared for the reality. Over there," she nodded to an indent in the skewed earth where the fight had occurred, "he dropped his main weapon, presumably to hit her with whatever the drug was on."

"Why didn't she try to activate an alarm or call one of us?" Valeria sighed, eyes glowing with frustration.

"I don't _know_. There's no reason for her to have disregarded all training and our years of partnership. She was drugged after a small time, but there was still time enough before that for her to warn us." Draco saw the slightest flutter beneath Creed's eyelids and cleared his throat.

"Valeria, she's-" The vampire shot to the side when the werecat flipped to her feet, claws fully extended and swinging.

"Creed! It's me, damn it!" The shorter woman froze, breathing harshly, pupils slitted despite the darkness. A soft, croaked word from Malachai, and she stumbled, eyes slowly returning to a semblance of normal – still feline, but no longer unnaturally slitted. Valeria caught her as she staggered, mewing a little in confusion.

"What—"

"This man is truly more disturbed than I had previously believed. He was under the impression, somehow, that Auror Jones is a victory spirit of the Pillar's pantheon." They all leveled disbelieving stares at him.

"The legends, as a general rule, state this; a woman of beastly descent will stand between every patriarch and their first mate, who, followed by one more, will be their guide to their final mate, who they, as a general rule, considered to be their primary mate. These victory spirits, if defeated, offered wisdom and power to the patriarch who bested them, and generally stayed with them until death. If a patriarch lost, their soul would be swallowed and the spirit would return to the land of the gods." He nodded to the dazed werecat.

"A drug, combined with a priest's blessing, would have bound the spirit to them. Obviously, because Creed is not actually one of these spirits, it did not work, but it must have had some base that brought her baser instincts to the front of her mind." He sighed.

"I believe I understand, at least enough to get Troy back. Auror Tanner, see to your partner. Narcissa, call Mallory. The rest of you, come back inside. We will meet in the den."

* * *

Mallory stumbled through the Floo, staying upright but achieving a state of rumpled dignity that was astonishing.

"What's this about Magus Del Toro being abducted?" Narcissa led him to the den, giving him some of the details as they went, his jaw getting tighter with each new fact. He entered to a scene of a fully transformed Creed (the drug's belated effect), a keening Lorcán, two furious Aurors, a pair of stoic (though Draco looked, miraculously, ruffled) purebloods, and a family of worried redheads.

"Auror Mallory."

"Del Toro, what the hell happened? And Creed, why are you furry this early in the month?" The werecat hissed, curling her body into a tighter ball while Lorcán tried to curl up within that ball, still keening brokenly. Valeria watched them with a mixture of frustration, anger, and worry; Harry stared straight ahead, eyes dark with that same anger. The older Auror sighed, crossing his arms.

"Okay – someone tell me everything." Malachai did as requested, ending with his theory, when a harried house elf appeared, ears flat against her skull, eyes more enormous than usual.

"M-Miss – a-a letter for y-you…" She thrust the missive at Narcissa, trembling furiously, and fled before Narcissa could say anything. The tall woman stared at it, turning it over slowly in her hands.

"Could it be from the killer?" Harry held out his hand, and Narcissa passed it to him, watching him hold it up for a moment, then pass his wand over it a few times, before passing it back.

"Open it and see." She sighed and did so, slowly pulling the letter itself out.

"Ah – it is addressed to you as well, Malachai." The tall American joined her, reading over her shoulder.

 _'This is of the utmost importance, and I know, as does Gerard, that you will treat the situation as delicately as it demands.'_ Malachai started, eyes narrowed.

"Gerard? But Gerard disappeared years ago!"

"Your brother-in-law?"

"Yes!" He stared at the letter.

"The handwriting is his, but he was obviously taking this down for someone else." Narcissa returned her attention to the puzzling letter, eyes solemn.

 _'We have been tracking a man, whose true identity is unknown to us, who proved to be a threat to you, Malachai. We followed him through India, Egypt, England, and eventually to the Americas and back; each time, he stayed only long enough to procure certain odd items and the occasional piece of information, all in reference to the Pillar of Heaven. Originally, we believed him to be a petty thief, searching for blackmail material, but his intentions proved to be much more sinister. He was working for another, a man you know well – your stepbrother, Elijah. His motives were far more simple – he wished to seduce your daughter and obtain her hand in marriage, only to kill her, receiving her fortune and hurting you in the process. Something went wrong, and the man he employed killed Bernadette – decapitating her._ Narcissa's horrified gasp matched the dark expression of anguish in Malachai's eyes.

_'After this, their contact stopped; the unknown man disappeared, and we turned our attention to Elijah. He managed to resurrect the League of Temperance, but Troy killed him when she finally destroyed the cell. I do not believe she knew who he was, but I know he succeeded in breaking her heart. With his death, we believed the danger past, and moved on. However, it came to be that the man he'd hired resurfaced, as the headhunter the Aurors and Magi track now. Having never seen his face, we opted to remain outside of the investigation, but now we know where he is._

_'Narcissa; it is with your son that the key lies. This man works within one of his establishments, and that is where you will find him. The end game he has planned draws ever nearer._

_GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. STAY IN THE MINISTRY.'_ The abrupt end, as well as Gerard's signature, were scrawled, as if he'd suddenly realized something and had to leave immediately. The Aurors exchanged glances, and Harry looked at Draco, who looked sick and slightly puzzled.

"Depravia?"

"It has to be." Narcissa seemed to snap out of her stupor.

" _Depravia_?" Draco winced.

"Mother, we can argue at the Ministry – Valeria and Harry need to get Troy out." Mallory nodded, pulling the letter from her hands.

"Take the Floo – I'll follow. Weasleys, go with them. Potter, Tanner, Jones – go ahead to Depravia. I'll send a team after you. Tell Lorcán to come with me so you have a way to communicate with them." Valeria did as ordered, even as the others filed to the fireplace, waiting while Mallory's office was secured, and then entering, one after another. Harry and Creed went out first, Harry Apparating them to Depravia, waiting for Valeria.

"I don't know how easy this will be – I don't know where she could be, but Creed, you can probably follow her scent, right?" The werecat nodded, dropping her towering form to all fours and bounding into the building, both Aurors following, Harry with his wand drawn, Valeria pulling on a pair of gauntlets. Harry knew from experience that these were her signature weapons; gauntlets that mimicked a pair of wings that curved around a blood red gem. The edges of the wings could be used as blades, if need be; the rest of the gauntlet, however, was meant for brutal, short ranged encounters. The fingers curved into claws, and the back of each knuckle was made up of steel "lotuses" that curled out to pierce metal and flesh when punched or backhanded. The gauntlets extended to just above her elbows, and from this two blades rose, like spines. The entire things were made of black metal, the "lotuses", wings, and spines done in silver, all covered in shimmering spirals and curls that bled from silver to black to blood red. The gems themselves seemed old and worn – they were the channels for her natural vampire magic, the only way she could use it in battle.

* * *

Creed led them through the main room and into the dungeons, deeper than Harry had ventured before. The sadism got all the more hardcore the further in they went, and even Valeria seemed slightly ill by the time they reached the three doors. Creed hissed and paused, tail twitching slightly as she stalked up and down, muzzle lifted. Finally her ears twitched forward and she paused in front of the right most door, crouched, tail snapping irritably from left to right. Valeria sighed and moved to flank the door with her, while Harry stood a little ways back to take the brunt of an attack from the front, if it came to that. Valeria spent a few moments leading Lorcán and therefore the backup team, who finally appeared, the first ten forming a line blocking off escape, the second ten splitting into two groups and preparing to raid the other two rooms, and the last five forming a semi-circle behind Harry. He met each Auror's eyes and nodded to Valeria.

"Go."

* * *

Troy yelped and managed to flip the chair on its side when the door slammed open and she found herself face to face with an extremely displeased werecat.

"Wait, wait! Creed, it's me—" She gaped as the cat leapt over her and shot into the passage that was closing steadily behind her. Valeria and the rest of the team followed, joined by ten more people while Harry and his own group of ten dealt with the basically empty room and Troy.

"What the _hell_ happened?" She squirmed as the ropes were burned away, and flung her arms around his neck, muffling her loud curses in his chest.

"Yes, I get it, you'll make sure he is impaled and crucified and eats his own eyes, but I would rather know if you know who he is."

"No! I don't know what he did, but I couldn't see anything until you all showed up!" He swore under his breath, supporting her as they headed out, surrounded by five of the ten Aurors, the other fives staying behind to deal with evidence and the like.

"Well, everyone's been relocated to the Ministry; we got some letter from your uncle and someone else telling us to come here. It narrows our search down at least." She snorted.

"That's true." She sighed, dizziness finally catching up to her.

"Oooh…shit. Um – so, what now?"

"I don't know…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Damn bent' is a friend's term. I happen to find it amusing.


	14. Will It And So It Will Be

Malachai sat with his daughter, holding her as she rocked, eyes wide and disbelieving. In the aftermath of the kidnap, Harry had finally remembered what he hadn't told her and informed her of Dorian's* death. Draco had Floo'd Elliot, but so far, he hadn't shown; Draco didn't know where he was, and neither did his butler, who'd answered the call and informed them that the master had left abruptly upon receiving a short missive suddenly in the night.

Harry sat on the floor in the next room, staring at the ceiling as he went through everyone they'd met in Depravia. He knew he was missing something – something _important._ Draco slowly sat next to him, nuzzling his ear.

"How's Troy?" Harry asked quietly, his fingers moving constantly, nervously.

"She'll be okay – none of us liked Dorian, but none of us wanted him dead." Harry nodded stiffly.

"You don't think..." He trailed off, unwilling to voice that thought. Draco looked over at him quizzically.

"I don't think what, Harry?" The brunette sighed.

"You don't think he was murdered because the killer perceived that I disliked him, do you?" Draco stared at him, baffled. The thought hadn't occurred to him, and given that they were dealing with a man who was apparently obsessed with Harry, he was surprised it hadn't.

"Harry – we're dealing with someone who is incredibly sick and probably doesn't think like we do anymore. So, no, I don't. This is in no way your fault – except for being irresistible, but given your fan club, I think I can forgive it." Harry's bark of laughter was slightly watery, a little weak. Draco rested his head on his shoulder, smiling a little. He was beginning to say something when the door swung open and Ron walked in, followed by Elliot and a thin dark haired man with regal, classical features and milky eyes – blind.

"Everyone, this is Gerard Green." Almost everyone reacted by turning sharply or scrambling to their feet, in the case of Harry and Draco. The man nodded once.

"I learned of my niece's kidnap and came as quickly as I could – however, my partner chose to stay behind and search for some sign of where the murderer may have gone."

"Gerard!" The thin man smiled at Malachai's voice.

"Brother." Troy followed her father, uncertain. Gerard tilted his head, blind eyes seeming to scan the room.

"Troy?" She smiled a little bit.

"Father said you use arachnid theoretical magic to see, but we've never met – how do you know my magic signature?" The man chuckled.

"You are very much like my older sister, your mother – even your magics are similar, though yours are tinged with the same magics as Malachai, the magics of the Pillar of Heaven empire – or rather, what is left of it." Elliot fidgeted impatiently behind him, and again Gerard laughed.

"Darling niece, I believe my companion is eager to be certain of your health." Troy slid past him, taking Elliot's hands in hers, smiling a little.

"I'm okay – see, no limbs missing, head still attached to my body. He didn't do anything to me outside of removing me from the Manor – I was checked, I promise." Elliot looked at Harry, who nodded in affirmation, and sighed, freeing one hand to drag it through his already considerably ruffled hair – evidence of his worry. She slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

"I'm fine..." Elliot swallowed a comment he was sure her father would kill him for and nuzzled her hair. Gerard rested his hands on Malachai's, smile disappearing.

"We must talk – the threat, as you undoubtedly know, has only grown." Malachai nodded, eyeing Elliot for a moment, before beckoning to Narcissa and Mallory, disappearing into the office with them in tow. Troy looked up at Elliot and smirked.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of my father."

"Who _isn't_?"

* * *

The emergency Auror meeting didn't last long – the majority of those attending already knew everything that had occurred and were completely prepared, or at least thought they were, and were, as a general rule, mostly so. However, Gerard and Malachai were pessimistic, and as the only ones with any concrete knowledge about the Pillar of Heaven, it was to them that the Auror corps deferred.

In parting, Malachai spoke only a little; "You must know that this man is desperate to attain his goal, in a way that only the most demented are. He does not see you as people, only pawns and victims – as far as he is concerned, you are a lesser people and meant for death. Do not approach him, do not attempt to apprehend him. This can only end bloodlessly if we use cunning and risk – there is no other way." Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, stumbling towards the room he'd been given early on in his Auror career and never used.

Narcissa spoke with Mallory, Creed, and Valeria, trying to piece together what they might have missed.

Malachai and Gerard caught up amidst the murmurs of the chaos.

Troy allowed Elliot to comfort her as she remembered the fear that had clenched around her heart only a few hours before.

The Weasleys retired to attempt to regain some semblance of normality.

Outside, a foul storm brewed, and Draco slipped back into Depravia, praying his old sense of self preservation hadn't left him completely.

The halls were empty – he imagined he'd lost some profit with the Auror raid, but at the same time he knew he'd be receiving some delighted letters from a few of his more excitable patrons. He pushed open the door to his private chambers and lit the snake-born orbs, stripping off his cloak and tossing it unceremoniously to the side, where several charms stripped it of wrinkles and hung it placidly by the door. A few more steps brought him to the washroom, where he turned on the faucet, splashing icy water onto his face, looking up to stare at his haggard reflection.

"Sir?" He whipped around with a strangled gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. Nis's eyes glittered darkly in the hazy light.

"I apologise, Templar. May I?" Draco shivered and pried his hands from the counter, dragging himself into the next room, collapsing onto the bed. Nis sat behind him, producing a comb and beginning the process of seeing to Draco's slightly tangled locks. Draco relaxed, mulling on his employee. Nis tended to wear complex glamours – every time someone saw him, they saw a different man who was somehow the same, save for height or a slightly darker or lighter shade of skin, bigger or smaller nose, or eyes, or hands – things Draco knew for a fact many people never really noticed but nevertheless cataloged in their minds. Nis's true form was a mystery even to Draco – the only thing he was certain of was that he had olive eyes and was fairly tall and in good shape.

"You are quite tense, Sir. Perhaps a massage would do you good?" inquired the taller man. Draco nodded, slowly easing his shirt off, wincing as stiff muscles twinged. Nis eased off the bed, disappearing into the washroom and returning with a bottle of oil, a rag, and a cigarette, which he pressed into Draco's hands before returning to his place behind him.

"Given the events of tonight, I am not surprised you are in knots." Silence drifted like the smoke of the cigarette, rising lazily and hanging above them luxuriously.

"Nis, have you noticed anything of note?"

"Mm...only the appearance of Auror Potter, and I think we can both agree that a large portion of your patrons noticed him, with no small amount of pleasure." Draco snorted, amusement creeping into his half lidded eyes. Nis continued to knead his flesh, humming a little in the back of his throat.

"Ah – the raid earlier, Sir?"

"What about it?"

"The woman they saved – she was with Auror Potter when he first arrived, yes?" Draco nodded.

"Magus Troy Del Toro." Nis's hands had moved to his shoulders, where they lingered for a moment, his grip tightening, before he slipped back into his original rhythm.

"She is alright?"

"Mm...yeah, she's okay – Harry, Elliot, and her father are taking care of her." Again his rhythm faltered, and then he sighed, pulling his hands away from the other man.

"Sir, you are better?" Draco shifted and stretched, smiling.

"Much better, Nis – thank you." The man nodded shortly, returning the things to their original positions and beginning to leave.

"Nis?"

"Sir?" Draco hesitated.

"Are you alright?" Nis smiled tightly, the expression almost a grimace – nothing like his usual wide, toothy smiles.

"I am fine, Sir. Good night, Sir." He froze as he watched him leave, something cold trickling down his spine. Some old saying about someone walking on your grave flitted through his mind before he heard the door slam open and Nis's icy words to the newcomer.

_What is Harry doing here?_

* * *

Harry stepped out of the elevator and stalked through the deserted court, barely greeting the snakes before he yanked the door to Draco's rooms open and froze. Olive green eyes met his as scowling classical features twisted into surprise and then something akin to panic before a mask of stoicism fell over his face again. The tall man stepped back, holding the door open with elegant hands.

"Please, Auror Potter, come in – I am certain Templar will not mind your presence." Harry stepped into the room slowly, eyes never leaving the other man, when recognition shot through him.

"Nis?" Something flickered in those eyes, and the edges of his lips tipped up in a small smile.

"Ah...I see you recognise me despite the glamours – or lack thereof, in this case." He looked down at himself with an expression that looked almost sheepish, with a hint of self loathing. Harry smiled uncertainly, baffled. That unsettling sensation he distinctly recalled from his first meeting with Nis was stronger than ever, nagging at him, throwing him off kilter, and he didn't even have Troy here to offer unconscious support.

"Harry?" He looked past Nis to Draco and felt his mind wheel through a series of unsubstantiated ideas about why Draco was shirtless and slightly ruffled before settling on the stubborn idea that Draco and Nis had an entirely professional relationship, so he needn't worry.

"Narcissa sent me over to make sure you were okay." The blonde looked puzzled.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Creed followed you on Valeria's request." Nis coughed and began to inch towards the door. Draco blinked and called him back.

"Please, could you show Harry to the records room? I'll join you shortly. There is something I need to review with his help." Nis's eyes dimmed a bit as he nodded slowly, striding out of the room with a reluctant, uncomfortable Harry in tow.

"...How long have you worked for Draco?"

"Templar employed me a few days after I sought out his services, a few weeks after he began Depravia." Again Harry's mind scrabbled over the sharp, uncomfortable thoughts, like his brief conversation with Draco about him sleeping with his clients – _"Once it was simple lust, near the beginning of Depravia's founding..."_ – before it returned sharply to Nis, who paused.

"Sir?" There was something wrong with this entire room – he could smell something, but he didn't know what it was, though it seemed familiar, and the room seemed to be spinning. He stepped closer to Nis, grabbing his wrist, wondering absently why he was the only static thing in the room.

"Auror Potter?" His voice held no urgency, but something told Harry that this was a problem – why was he so dizzy? Finally, the room lurched and settled back to its usual static state, with little care for its occupants. Harry released Nis's wrist, noting guiltily that he'd left livid marks from his chewed down nails, a testament to how unstable he'd felt. The man didn't seem to notice.

"You are well now? Can I get you anything?" The genuine concern held some off note that Harry couldn't quite pinpoint. He shook it off, trembling ever so slightly.

"Water, please. I'll go ahead and sit down." The other man nodded and hovered for a moment until he was certain Harry would be able to reach the table he'd gestured to without falling, before disappearing without another word. Harry sat down hard, fingers curling around the edge of the metal table, mind whirling. He could feel bile rising in his throat as the flurry of thoughts began to trickle to foggy understanding of the danger he and Draco were in.

"Harry!" He loosened his grip on the table and plastered on a shaky smile as Draco strode across the room, sliding into a seat beside him and pushing some of Harry's hair out of his eyes, searching them for some sign of whatever had ailed him moments earlier.

"Nis said you had a peculiar reaction when you came in – he thinks you may have an allergy to something we treat the documents with." Harry shook his head, though not in denial, and pointed at the folder in Draco's hand.

"What's that?" The blonde looked down.

"Hmm? Oh, this is Nis's file – I hadn't updated it with his newest health report, so I did that before following you and Nis." He slid it onto the table and watched the Auror flip it open with renewed energy, eyes scanning it, noting the multiple photos of his many forms and sketchy background.

"You don't know much about him."

"No, but he's given me no reason to worry – the others all have much more information regarding their pasts." He rose.

"I'll get those." Harry nodded, eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

_'Nis Scarta. 5 feet, 11 inches. 150 pounds. Hair colour unknown, olive eyes. Race unknown. Employer's notes (general): Has never used a wand in my presence, and is lacking a documented past, though he has mentioned things now and again, but few link up or are documented anymore than any other part of his past._

_Current health status: Though without further testing, I cannot be sure, I believe Nis has developed lead poisoning – be alert for disintegrating coordination, slurred speech, depression, nausea and abdominal pains. Fatigue and headaches are also signs to note. Given what I have observed, it is_ _entirely possible that Nis is in mortal danger from this case of lead poisoning. Will require extra_ _treatment. Schedule another appointment as soon as possible.'_ The health section was otherwise blank save for the Healer's signature, but it immediately dredged up the memory of talking with Eddie; _"That dagger is weighted with lead. Now, I checked the rest of the bodies for marks, like you asked, that weren't organic. I found crude etchings on all of them – at the base of the spine, a starburst with a vertical line through it. A few tests confirmed they were all made with that dagger. Furthermore, they all have a few more stab marks on them I couldn't place until you brought that in, also caused by aforementioned dagger. Your killer probably has lead poisoning by now..."_ He stared at the words lead poisoning until he was certain _he_ would be afflicted by that same problem if he didn't stop thinking about it. He hadn't noticed anything off about Nis besides his usual off kilter feelings – but now doubt gnawed at him.

 _He's never been anything beyond cordial, and has shown no interest in_ you _at all beyond being a gracious host!_

"Harry-"

"Draco, has Nis seemed off to you lately?" The blonde sighed, accustomed to the abrupt bluntness that defined Harry when he was mulling over some new turn in the case.

"Define 'off'. Nis is not like any of my other employees – he's not like anyone I've ever met, really." Harry dropped his head on the cold table with a ringing thump.

"Risking sounding egotistical – has he ever shown lingering fascination in me?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Draco!" He started at Harry's slightly desperate tone and sobered.

"He's always been slightly infatuated with you – or at least, the you we all see in the paper." Harry swore under his breath and snapped the file closed. He didn't have anything, but his gut was churning with fear.

"I need all of your employees' addresses – we need to search their homes." Draco blinked as the man stalked out, barely throwing a curt goodbye over his shoulder.

* * *

The searches were fruitless until they reached Nis's home, disturbingly close to Grimmauld. The tiny place was sparsely furnished and seemed empty at first. Eventually Creed, after a brief sneezing fit while Harry struggled to stay upright from dizziness due to some smell, located a hidden cellar occupied by a potions lab and several shelves of neatly labeled bottles of potions none of the Aurors had ever seen before. Even the language – or rather, hieroglyphs – were unknown, much to everyone's mingled frustration and relief. It was suspicious, questionably legal, and it reeked of the Pillar of Heaven, especially after Creed found a weapon identical to the one they'd taken from Elliot's home. Nis, who hadn't been located after yesterday, was shaping up to be their main suspect, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom, this sensation of catastrophe in the wings, and when he mentioned it to the others over lunch, Hermione, Elliot, and Narcissa admitted to having similar feelings. Lunch ended on that solemn note, before they all trekked back to the Ministry to Floo the Weasleys and Narcissa to Hogwarts, where Mallory was convinced they'd be safest.

"Malachai and Gerard will go with you to examine the evidence; Jones and Tanner will go with you again. Potter-"

"Sir, Troy and I need to come along in case they come up with something of use – while we're there, we can figure out what to do next." Mallory nodded, shooing them towards the flames.

"Your belongings will follow." They each experienced the whooshing of Floo travel and stepped into Minerva's office, one after the other, and found themselves at a loss for what to do next until the Scottish matron swept in, smile tinged with the slightest amount of grimness.

"Welcome, welcome, all of you. Please, we've already seen to accommodations. Harry, please show Misters Green and Del Toro to the Room of Requirement – we have asked it to help with the investigation, so go with all haste." Harry proceeded to just that, followed closely by Troy and her father and uncle.

* * *

Troy snapped another book closed and gathered the last of the notes their many assistants had left behind and slid them into another folder, closing it and following the soft murmurs to her father and uncle, who were hunched over another set of notes, trying to understand the neat hieroglyphs covering each vial and a slim volume bound in brown leather. Harry was seated next to them, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, while Draco and Hermione examined the potions. Creed and Valeria were with the children, with Lorcan flying rounds around Hogwarts with the assistance of the centaurs on the ground.

"Rhiannon," Malachai suddenly said, not looking up from the book, "do you remember anything from your abduction?" Now dual coloured eyes rose from the notes, locking with her own chocolate brown eyes.

"Did he speak to you?"

"I...don't think-" She stopped, eyes widening a little.

"Yes! He said something in another language – nothing I recognised, but he said it and I remember smelling something, something distinctive." She sat down, eyes still wide, now bright with frustration.

"I don't remember much...no details-" She was cut off by a screaming alarm and the doors slamming open as Valeria pushed the Weasley children into the room, one hand barely forced into a gauntlet as gleaming mists left her hand and formed a shimmering barrier.

"What-"

"Your psycho is on the grounds – Creed went after him, but she told me Elliot's disappeared and their scents are intermingling." Harry rose, followed by Troy, who issued a sharp order to the others before the door closed and disappeared completely.

"Where the hell would he have gone?"

"He probably assumed no one could possibly get in-"

"But he could have easily gotten onto the grounds?" Troy stopped in her tracks.

"Even against _centaurs_? Harry, this isn't right! We're missing something crucial-" Valeria cleared her throat and pulled Troy out of the way as Creed swung in through a passageway Harry only vaguely remembered from the Marauder's Map.

"...Creed, you went to Durmstrang."

"So? Elliot's gone, but Nis left us a note – tacked to a tree over a dead centaur." She held it up. Harry took it from her, unfolding it and pausing when a scent he _knew_ unfurled from it. _This_ was what had really affected him on the note from Depravia, _not_ Draco's scent – this was what had been in the records room of Depravia, what had made him dizzy and nauseous. He gritted his teeth and shoved the sensation away, noting Creed and Valeria had both backed up a step, nostrils flaring. It hadn't occurred to him that their heightened sense of smell might have picked up that scent – it didn't seem to affect Troy.

_'We're in Depravia. Come alone, Mr. Potter.'_

"Like hell!" He held up a hand to stop Troy's furious onslaught and flipped the note over, staring at the hieroglyphs here.

"This is the actual message. Creed, Valeria, I need a vial of blood from both of you. Troy, get this to Malachai. I'll meet you at Depravia. Send Draco after me and follow him after a full hour has passed, understood?" They all nodded, and he turned, starting down the hall.

"Send me a message when you've arrived."

* * *

He knew, of course, that entering Depravia blind when the murderer was unstable and in possession of unknown potions as well as who knew how many weapons was rash at best, but he also knew that no matter how insane Nis seemed, he was actually much more basic than they'd thought before. They'd been over thinking it, trying to analyze what wasn't there, when the facts of the matter were practically written on the walls. Speaking of which...

"Nis?" He swallowed an undignified sound – possibly a squeal, more likely a scream – when cool fingers slid over his left wrist and calmly undid the holster for his wand while the other hand slid over his body almost clinically, searching for other weapons.

"Good evening, Auror Potter." He turned and folded his arms, meeting Nis's eyes squarely.

"You weren't going to hurt Troy, were you?"

"...No. I merely meant to return her mother's things. It was not my intent to kill her, but I found that my murderous intentions were insidious and inescapable – I will go to my grave cursing Elijah Del Toro for what he did to me." He nodded to the door and let Harry take the lead – probably to ensure his own safety.

"Do you know what a jivor is, Auror Potter?"

"Can't say I do – sounds Spanish."

"Given that the item in question was used by the Pillar of Heaven empire, it is entirely possible the Roman wizarding community came in contact with them – it would explain Emperor Caligula." Harry shrugged, pausing and looking over his shoulder for another cue from the icy murderer.

"Left. A jivor is a small lead cube, about the size of a peach pit, a little smaller. It was surgically inserted into the base of one's neck, and once it was, the fifteen thousand shards of various gems, precious and semi-precious, were filled with magical energy, and webs of spells were woven, anchored by tattoos that covered the jivor's host's back." Harry let Nis unlock the door and lead him deeper into Depravia, nearer to where he'd finally discovered Templar's identity.

"This device, eventually, gave its host innumerable powers, but it was only used by the snake whisperers, who could and would key the jivor to their specific ability, making the host their slave, more completely than any other form of slavery beyond a blood oath." The olive eyed man unlocked the elevator, twin to the one he'd led him and Troy to when leading them to the shadowed temple mockery where Draco resided. Gone, however, was the ever smiling man whose very presence left others feeling as if they were being entertained by some sort of twisted living doll. In his place was a cold, calculated man whose motions were less stiff and puppet-like, and more akin to Draco's – innately sensual, in sharp contrast to his icy countenance and behaviors.

"Nis-"

"Core. Welcome, Nis and guests." He started at the genderless voice as the doors glided open and Nis strode out, apparently no longer worried for his own safety – or perhaps he knew he was safer here.

"Welcome to the Core, Harry Potter, of Depravia."

* * *

Draco stared at the club he'd considered his home for so many years and swallowed hard at the heavy knot of fear in his stomach, before pushing open the door and beginning his descent. In his hand was the translated note, in all its stark glory.

 _'Auror Potter, I must request your presence in Depravia. I will return Lord Grayson to your people in exchange for some of your time. You may come alone or with Magus Del Toro – you may ever bring Templar. Leave the others behind and do not attempt to apprehend me. We will discuss my terms on your arrival.'_ The first note, Malachai noted, couldn't have been from Nis, but he, Gerard, and Narcissa had all commented on how strangely familiar the handwriting was. A few silent spells led him to the Core elevator, much to his alarm.

 _Why the hell would he take them to the Core?_ The elevator's voice was disabled with a few shifted controls, but the silence only made the knot in his stomach grow. The doors opened with their customary silence, and he stepped out, eyes scanning the room.

The Core was an enormous pit; on the first level, looking down into the pit, was a railing. This was where the majority of guests stood while watching the events below. There was another level jutting out over the pit where a continuation of the dungeons spilled over, and in the pit itself, several doors led into cells where the participants of whatever entertainment of the night stayed beforehand. This sexually charged twist on the Roman games had been one of the few things Draco _hadn't_ come up with – the idea had come from one of his more questionable clients, and he had acquiesced to the request, seeing the potential for profit. The Core hosted exclusive games featuring only willing participants, and the bloody spectacles were his most profitable ventures, though he rarely entered the Core, and never during one of those games. Here, he saw a strange crucifix jutting from the Core's floor, where an unconscious form hung, chained – and thank the gods, not _nailed –_ to the metal and wood form. Several others surrounded it, and he saw two more join them, realizing instantly that it was Nis and Harry. He searched for the door to the lower levels with increasing fervor, and finally wrenched it open, walking hurriedly down the shadowed hall but not running for fear he'd do something idiotic – like twist or break his ankle on the steadily dropping incline leading to the floor. The final door hung open, and he stumbled through it to see Nis's glamours disappear with the slightest wink of light, and gaped. The bare chested man looked over his shoulder, thin lips twisting into a grim smile.

"Welcome, Templar. Now we may begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I forgot to explain why Harry asks for vials of Creed and Valeria's blood. They'll both alter it to make it a healing serum. It's dangerous in large amounts, thus only getting a vial each.


	15. Dance With The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GORE! MUTILIATION! HARRY BEING A DUMB SHIT! (wait...CO. Never mind.) Ahem. MAYBE NOT IN CONTROL OR IS HE?SERIAL KILLER! Profanity. Moral dilemmas. I think I read too many synopses of the Saw movies. Screwy tenses – it happens when I try to write fight scenes while a hundred other things are going on around me.

Troy signaled the Aurors to wait, eyes locked on the door, fingers curled loosely around the two vials of blood Harry had asked for – why, she _still_ didn't know. The door creaked open and she slipped inside, muttering a little under her breath as she began to set off the alarms Draco had told her about.

* * *

Nis looked up, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Ah – so you did invite Del Toro." Harry shrugged, eyes riveted on the unreasonably calm man.

Nis's true form was only a little different than the form he'd seen when he'd gone to Depravia to check on Draco. However, now he had a twisted scar running through his right eye, which was foggy and presumably blind, and a network of scars on his stomach and arms. His entire back was a strange inked tapestry, detailing odd adventures and furious battles, all underlined by thousands of miniscule hieroglyphs. His skin had a darker undertone – not quite olive, but certainly not fair and not dark enough to be considered truly brown. His eyes, as Draco had noted, were indeed olive, and his hair, in a sort of defiance to his youthful appearance, was steel gray, and at the base of his neck was the corner of a small, dull metal cube, apparently implanted there.

Draco swallowed and inched closer to Harry, freezing when Nis's eyebrow rose and he found himself began forced back towards the crucifix fixed in the ground before them, where an unconscious Elliot hung.

"Ah – Nis, perhaps you'd like to tell me why a jivor is relevant to...this." Draco blinked and stared over the taller man's shoulder at Harry, who shrugged, strain and new fear showing around his eyes. Nis chuckled.

"You are afraid I'll hurt him."

"I think it's an entirely justified reaction, but I honestly want to know what it is, exactly, you were trying to tell me." Nis's smile turned almost amiable, but Draco nevertheless felt the chains materialize behind him and twisted around his wrists, giving him space to wander but otherwise binding him to the cross behind him.

"Elijah Del Toro was a Parselmouth. He adapted the ancient spells of the Pillar of Heaven snake whisperers and implanted a jivor in me." His eyes glittered apologetically.

"He found me through channels for people like us – people interested in the Pillar of Heaven empire and its lost works. I was once a scholar specialising in their religion, but my specialised training in the Indian armies – both Muggle and magical – was what truly brought Del Toro's attention to me. He wanted me to hunt down his stepbrother, the man he felt stole his birthright from him, despite his status as Tulia Del Toro's bastard son. He was the eldest, and so felt entitled to the power and wealth given to Malachai. However, the money he promised me would pay for any research I required, and under my original contract, I was not supposed to kill anyone, least of all Malachai's wife. Elijah did not see fit to warn me of what the jivor would do – he didn't tell me he could control me whenever it suited him. He inserted a sort of urge – the need to kill – into my brain, and continued this sort of meddling, modeling me after one of the patriarchs of the Pillar of Heaven." He laughed harshly.

"I can no more control this urges than I can destroy this damn _thing_ in me. A jivor, truly, is worse than any Dark Mark or similar binding – it is tied to my flesh, blood, and bone; it's _a part of me._ " Draco watched helplessly as Harry, undeniably affected by the anguished man before him, began to move closer, obviously in the grips of one of his idiotic Saviour crusades. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to remind Harry that this man had _killed_ those people, obviously intent on him for some insane reason, and that he was entirely to blame for his actions, ancient device or no ancient device, but he found himself without words, and Harry wasn't paying attention anyway.

* * *

Troy noted the glowing marks Draco had left on the walls and floor and followed them, using the small key charm to activate the elevator and enter the Core, ignoring the reactivated voice and skidding through the door, stumbling a bit on the ramp but nevertheless reaching the bottom intact. She finally slipped through the final door and almost fell on her face as she watched Harry slip his arms around Nis's neck and kiss him lightly, hesitantly. Her eyes snapped to Draco to make sure she wasn't imagining it, and from the expression on his face, she hadn't. Forcing Harry's apparent loss of sanity to the back of her mind, she moved to help Draco, only to feel the ground shift and go down hard as a metal clamp ripped free of the packed dirt and closed around her leg. She wasn't completely sure she'd screamed, except she could hear it echoing off the walls. The enormous trap had punctured her leg in at least five place, and she couldn't move without ripping it off. Her eyes rose to Nis, who had pulled away from Harry at her scream and was looking down at her with an odd, almost satisfied smirk. Harry was staring at the blood, and Draco was turning the air blue with some of the more creative profanity she'd ever heard, probably even waking Elliot in the process, if the slight movement was anything to go on. Panting, she lifted herself slightly, trying to rest all her weight on her left leg.

"Ha fucking ha, Nis. What, you couldn't have fun without a little bit of blood and _someone_ losing a limb?" She spat the words with as much force as she could muster, but the amount of blood she was losing was making her dizzy, and her fingers curling into the dirt floor were going numb and losing their grip. The dark man moved away from Harry, who was swaying a little with shock, and crouched, eyes glittering, a small ring of yellow expanding from around the pupil to obscure most of the olive.

"Mm. For a Magus, you are strangely uncoordinated. That it never occurred to you that there might be traps, especially given my earlier behaviour, is rather...worrisome." He trailed his fingers over her lips, humourless smirk widening.

"It would be a pity to have you die – but what a lovely death yours would be, far more attractive than that of your mother. You, at least, will still have your head." She felt energy surge into her body in the form of anger, and struggled to hurt him _somehow_ , to at least wipe the smug expression off his face. Long fingers curled into her hair and yanked her forward into a bruising kiss, swallowing her furious screams, right before the needle slipped into her thigh and a small jolt of realization that she'd just been drugged came to her.

"However beautiful your death might be, I am trying, though it seems futile, to prevent further deaths." He pushed some of her hair out of her face, eyes seeming to soften, the yellow retreating before the olive. The clink of chains being yanked brought his attention to a newly awakened Elliot, who seemed to be displeased with his current position.

"Ah – Lord Grayson. You took longer to awaken than I expected. I believe I may have overestimated how much I required to leave you unconscious."

"N-Nis." He looked over his shoulder at Harry, who had finally shaken free of his stupor.

"Let them go – there's probably a small army of Aurors above ground. Just...let them go – and we'll talk." Nis's expression was almost bored, even amused by Harry's weak request. Troy struggled to free her wand, knowing very well that Nis was probably sensitive to magic – especially if that thing on the back of his neck was a jivor, as she imagined it was. A silent charm freed her leg; two more slowly levitated the chains from Draco and Elliot to the ground, but she forgot to muffle the clink, and immediately found herself under the scrutiny animalistic yellow eyes.

"Nis!"

"Yes, Auror Potter?" She stared, wanting very much to move, but knowing in her state she would only awaken the more predatory instincts in him and probably get herself killed. She watched him rise, returning to Harry.

"If you can get her out – you're free to go." Draco's eyes narrowed as he kicked the chains away and moved to Troy, even as Elliot landed with a thump and followed suit.

" _If_ we can get her out?" Nis's teeth flashed in the dim light.

"It's entirely up to you." He paused, looking almost pensive.

"Of course – you have to use that entrance." He nodded to a door across the stadium, still smirking. Elliot's soft oath seemed unbearably loud in the heavy quiet, but Nis had since dismissed him; all of his attention had returned to and settled on Harry. Troy gasped as the two men levered her to her feet and fumbled with the two vials of blood Harry had requested.

"Harry-"

"Roll Creed's to me, use half of Val's and roll the rest to me." She did as told, tugging Valeria's vial open with her teeth and splashing a bit of it on her mangled leg, before letting Draco close it and roll both vials to where Nis and Harry stood.

"We need to heal some of this."

"How extensive is the damage?" Troy hissed and swore violently when Draco shifted her leg without meaning to.

"It's fucking extensive, okay? I had a fucking overgrown _bear trap_ close on my leg, alright! Just _heal it_." Draco ignored her acidic tone and began to scan the wound, when Elliot brushed him aside.

"I'll do that; heal what I tell you to. It'll go faster, I was actually trained as a Healer."

"That's convenient." He looked up, blinking.

"I thought you knew – that's why we Graysons have any amount of money at all." Draco rolled his eyes and did as Elliot suggested. The work went slowly, but it was more efficient than what Draco would normally have done. Troy's choice of adjectives regarding their progress left no question as to how _she_ felt, but Elliot's sappy replies were making Draco's stomach turn all the more.

"So, what do you think is across there?"

"More traps, probably." Draco grimaced.

"Great. How, exactly, do we – what is that?" He gaped as Troy freed several small, heavy metal orbs from the small pouch hanging from her belt and activated them with breathy spells, causing geometric patterns to light up with teal luminescence, before she pressed them into Elliot's hands.

"Throw those ahead of us. The first one will find traps, the second will eliminate them, and the third and fourth with trace a path and protect us, respectively. Help me up, while you're at it." Elliot did as he was told, transferring her weight to Draco to toss the orbs and then finish their meager healing job.

"We shouldn't be moving you in this state, but I've laid some bracing charms. We just need to take this slow." Troy tossed sweat drenched brown curls out of her eyes.

"What will you do if we're attacked?"

"What?"

"If we're attacked – what's your plan? I can only do so much." Elliot grimaced.

"We'll – figure it out." The American rolled her eyes.

"Typical."

* * *

Nis led Harry out of the Core – or rather, into one of the "boxes" on the second level where the more wealthy patrons of Depravia could watch the "games" with all the luxury they expected and demanded.

"What do you want, Nis?"

"I want you to help me. I set out with that purpose in mind, but I soon found myself unable to keep to that chosen goal as Del Toro's meddling began to cause my mind to deteriorate." He smiled bitterly, eyes glazing a little as that spark of yellow Troy had seen began to unfurl again – the hate he'd been fostering for so long, twisted to its target's purposes, though the dead man would never know that. Harry clenched his hands as he watched the two men struggle to get Troy across the arena, following a bright path laid out in turquoise light.

"How, exactly, am I supposed to help you?"

"Mm – originally, I came up with a spell that someone of your great power could easily use to obliterate the spells on me, but proof came to my attention that this wouldn't work." Nis watched the trio stumble across the dirt, occasionally slipping in Troy's blood.

"I believe you know what I need you to do, Harry." The Auror stared at him.

"You have my wand." Nis's laugh was ragged, steadily rising in pitch, increasing Harry's certainty that he'd overlooked yet another obvious fact – Nis Scarta was entirely insane at this point, and this would not unfold the way either of them had imagined previously. Harry's eyes locked onto his wand as Nis freed it from the holster, examining it with a a smile similar to the one he'd been wearing when he'd first met Harry.

"Do you know what ancient Roman games entailed, Harry?"

"People – gladiators – fighting one another and animals, as a general rule." Was he here for a history lesson or to fulfill an insane murderer's last wish? Nis's smile widened and Harry's stomach dropped.

"Good – very good." The sound of metal grinding on metal brought his attention to the floor, where a panel in the floor was opening with chilling slowness.

"I do hope you know how to fight without a wand, my friend – it will be increasingly dangerous if you do not." He flipped the wand towards Harry and murmured a soft spell. Harry felt his muscles clench and then move on their own – a version of the Imperius curse that was generally used in surgeries, not to control people and lead them to their death – why not? He'd never thought about it before then. He stomped down the stairs and stood still as the door ground closed above him, and the spell was terminated.

"See if you can't fulfill my wish in a more entertaining manner, Harry – instant death lacks imagination and more importantly, pleasure for either party."

* * *

Elliot swallowed hard at Troy's agonized whimpers and occasional muffled wail when they jerked her in another direction abruptly. He could hear Draco muttering apologies as they went, and it further twisted his heart as he watched her go paler and paler.

"Stop. Stop – what was that?" She curled her fingers into his shoulder, looking over her shoulder, struggling to stay awake and alert.

"A – a door opening?" Draco's eyes widened, and he swore vehemently under his breath.

"What would Cissa say if she heard you talking like that, Draco?" The blonde ignored her to adjust his grip on her waist and pull his wand with his other hand.

"He's sending something out after us – probably creatures, he'd never be able to convince someone to play this insane game of his." Elliot focused on holding Troy up, trying in vain to keep up with the unraveling spells on her leg.

"Draco, I've got her – cover us and I can get her out." Draco nodded, helping Elliot lift Troy, who muffled her scream of pain in Elliot's chest, arms locking around his neck.

"Shh, baby, shh – I know it hurts, we'll get you out of here soon. Just stay with me – stay with me." She nodded, tears gleaming in her glazed eyes.

"I'm not letting you go, Troy – I promise, I won't let you go." Whether or not he meant that in reference to the present scenario or in the future tense, she honestly didn't care; she just held on tighter and nodded again, unable to dredge up the energy to speak. He rested his forehead on hers, murmuring under his breath as he continued to spell her leg.

 _He's not going to have enough energy to get us out of here._ "S-stop, Elliot – I'm okay, just go – just go. We'll be okay." He nuzzled her, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth before he began moving again, barely crossing the threshold into the next room when the door slammed and a roar rang through the building.

"What the _hell_ -"

"Elliot, just go! They'll be okay!" She silently complained about her repetitive, boring line, and then laughed out loud at her own inanity.

"I obviously need to get you out of here faster than I thought if you're laughing at a time like this."

"Elevator, then please just knock me out and levitate me out."

"After that?" She started, meeting his eyes.

"After that?" He smiled weakly.

"Do you want me to stay or go in after Draco and Harry after that?" She stared at him, then smiled back, just as weakly.

"You really do know me too well." He touched his nose to hers.

"I love you." She winced.

"Not now." He kept moving, taking the key charm from her and activating the elevator.

"Now or never, Troy."

* * *

Draco took a moment to stare at the now locked door, before turning to stare up at the creature rising from the ground, unearthing several traps in the process. He had heard of the enormous sand hydra, as they were called, thought to be the creature the legendary aquatic Hydra of Greek myth was based on. However, the many interpretations of that creature rarely came to this. Five broad, flat heads with large bone ridges dropping over small yellow eyes, marbled, pebbled skin, and rows and rows of small serrated teeth. These heads rested on long, thick necks with limited mobility, all tapering into an enormous flat body lined with thousands of spindly, barb-tipped legs, similar to a centipede. The body eventually tapered into an arrowhead tail, also flat, used to steer as it wove through the sands of the deserts it usually inhabited. He was rather appalled that Nis had been able to get a hold of one of these without him noticing.

 _Unless he raised it on his own, like that oaf Hagrid._ He snorted and proceeded to run as all five heads shot towards him, snarling, slightly yellow saliva falling in fat drops from lipless maws.

"Draco!" He looked up to see Harry scrambling over dislodged chunks of turf and weaving through freed traps. They met each other halfway, crouched beneath a particularly large shaft of hardened earth.

"What _is_ that?"

"A sand hydra – found just about anywhere there's a warm desert." Harry gaped at the hissing, thrashing form above them.

"How did he get it in here?" Draco leveled an even stare on him and he blushed.

"Not relevant – sorry. Do you have your wand?" Draco nodded and Harry sighed in relief.

"Nis has mine – something about making his death more entertaining. He didn't give me a weapon, just left me out here." Draco bit his lip, eyes scanning the tumbled earth through the clouds of dusts the thrashing hydra was sending up left and right.

"There must be a weapon in here somewhere – he's basing this off a Roman game, so there would be something, maybe hidden."

"Probably hidden." He noted Harry's sour expression and sighed.

"Come on." The brunette rose, eyeing the enormous creature.

"Any weakness you know of?"

"...Water. They don't like water or cold, but we have to cut off the head to the right of the center one, or it will just respawn, two for each one it loses. It also doesn't have the greatest eyesight – relies on smell." Harry nodded and turned to him, smiling a little.

"Don't be mad." Draco blinked.

"What – Harry!" He gaped as the ex-Gryffindor shot out of their hiding spot and headed for the tail slapping back and forth in front of them, sending up huge clouds of dust and grit.

"Harry! You _idiot_ , what the hell are you _doing_?"

* * *

Harry wasn't exactly sure he could answer that question as he scrabbled over the rough hide of the creature's tail, struggling to hold on as it thrashed blindly, hissing and snarling, its tail rising and slapping down onto the earth with bone shaking force. He gritted his teeth and continued climbing, holding on as best he could to the creature's rough skin. One head twisted back to see what was causing the irritation on its back and he ducked, silently wondering how it _couldn't_ see him – it wasn't like he wasn't a black splotch across its reasonably pale hide. He started when the creature screamed and began to flail, its heads all twisting in multiple directions, and he realized Draco was shooting high powered jets of water at it from various angles.

* * *

"Damn it Harry, get _down_ – Harry!" He barely noticed how much screaming hurt as he watched Harry perform an oddly graceful arc off the hydra's back and slam into the ground across a horrifically large chasm – just far enough away from him that it would be an almost impossible feat to reach him without dying in the process.

" _Harry_!" He breathed a weak sigh of relief when the crumpled form shifted and Harry rose a bit, coughing harshly. His relief morphed into terror as one of the doors ground open, almost unheard or seen with dust and screeching hydra, and a cloaked form materialized beside Harry, pulling him to his feet and into the room they'd appeared from. As if in response to his welling terror, the hydra screamed again and slammed its tail down behind him, and he realised with a jolt that his main escape routes had just been cut off by the enormous snarling creature.

"...Fuck." He sent another spray of water at it and ran towards its torso, crawling over its body and sliding onto the beaten earth, running towards the door Troy and Elliot had left through. Immediately the flat body whips around with astonishing speed and cuts off this escape as well, but its flipped itself on its side, its writhing legs clenched in an unending spasm, struggling to pierce the prey that insists on eluding it. Three of the five heads slam into the earth, still hissing and whining as they snap at the elusive foe, its fear choking their nostrils – they know its there, but it will not stay still!

Draco skidded backwards as the fourth head slammed into the ground, the tremors actually forcing him to his knees, but there's no chance to rest as the fifth head, the rightmost from the center head, hurtles towards him, and he throws himself to the side – and lets go of his wand.

"Oh, come _on_ – shit!" He rose and tried for the wand, only to be blocked by a hideously large head, dripping teeth resting unnecessarily close to his legs. A split second passes before his instincts take control and his foot snaps out, slamming into the hydra's head. Stunned, it rears back, and immediately he rises, intending on running for his wand, only to feel the smooth wood pushed into his hand. He stared dully at the gleaming wood, looking up in time to see those silver eyes, the slightest undertone of blue making them seem to glint even in the dullest light.

"F- _Father_?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -singsong- I regret NOTHING~. Except maybe that title because Zarek.


	16. Epilogue: To Our New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clothing porn. That is all.

The world had decided that today of all days, it would be sunny – bright and sunny and wonderfully warm, a summer untouched by the horrors that had been unfolding over the last few months. Elliot listened to Malachai bite off each word, dual coloured eyes blazing with a ferocity that only bolstered his spirits. Troy would be okay now – Malachai would see to that at least. He looked over his shoulder at the house of horrors that had once been Depravia and shivered.

On his way out with Troy, she'd passed out, and the marks she'd instructed him to follow had flickered out. Having been in Depravia before, he was relatively confident in his ability to find a way out, but he soon found himself in a labyrinth formed of a madman's mind, a twisted trap meant to ensnare and slowly devour its prey. The first dead Auror was far too deep into Depravia; Troy hadn't said she'd brought backup – in fact, he imagined she'd probably told them to stay back. The body didn't have any marks on it – and when he rolled it over, he realized something had cleanly removed its face as well. He didn't have anything to vomit up, but he still managed to dry heave for a few minutes, trying his hardest not to vomit on either the body or an unconscious Troy. The darkness, once oppressive, is now a godsend – with it, he can overlook the gruesome deaths he _knows_ occurred here, he can avoid seeing those lifeless cadavers, some with leering eyes, some without, some with fixed grins as they died in the midst of some mindless, unspoken pleasure.

"Elliot." He met Gerard's blind eyes and smiled weakly, knowing he can't see it but he can feel his twisting emotions.

"What is wrong?"

"Harry and Draco haven't come back yet." Gerard nodded, eyes skimming over the general area of the door.

"They will be fine."

Draco slammed hard into the wall, breathing heavily through his nose as his side burns – at some point he'd ended up beneath the hydra, and it had sunk at least ten barbed legs into his side.

"Here." He lifted his arms and let his father heal the burning wound to some extent, then stared at the box where Nis was presumably watching. Lucius had somehow entered Depravia and intervened in this sick little game, and now Harry was, hopefully, dealing with Nis above them. An odd thought occurred to him.

"Father, if you gave your wand to Harry, whose-"

"Black market." Draco swallowed a chuckle – it hurt too much to laugh.

"Of course." Lucius smiled a little, feeling that warmth in the pit of his stomach flare again. Ever since the small Weasley had found him and he'd convinced the half-blood vampire and her werecat partner to let him help, he'd felt the guilt over his faked death retreat in the knowledge that soon, soon he would be with his beloved wife and son again. He watched his son's eyes flit to the box again and fought to contain a smirk. Of course, the boy wasn't paying any attention to him or the creature hissing a snarling a few feet away – he was more concerned about Potter's health to pay attention to his own. Lucius tapped his shoulder gently to signal him that he was done, and the two blondes inched towards the exit, eyes following the flailing creature's progress towards the other end of the room, where an illusion, anchored to a few stones, of another sand hydra waited. It was a sensory illusion – visibly hazy, meant to appeal to the other senses – perfect for the sand hydra. Draco had suggested it but lacked the actual ability to execute the plan.

"Are you _sure_ Harry will be alright?"

"Draco, such mindless worrying over someone as competent as Mr. Potter is unbecoming." Draco blinked, slightly taken aback by his father's gentle reprimand, and more surprised by his immediate silence following. Apparently old habits never died, no matter what you did. They both began to leave the arena for good when the hydra's scream suddenly escalated, reaching an octave Draco was relatively certain they _weren't_ supposed to be able to hear. Both blondes looked up to see the glass wall of the box Nis had been occupying shatter, the shards raining down onto the hydra, followed by Harry, who dropped onto the hydra's head and buried an axe into its skull, sliding off its back and running across the arena, skidding to a halt in front of them and pushing Draco through the door.

"What-"

"Nis had spells to cause the arena to collapse when I killed him – _go._ "

* * *

Troy woke in time to hear the ground rumble and groan and feel it roll sickeningly, bucking up from within Depravia.

"What the bloody _hell_?" She silently agreed with Ron's startled exclamation, struggling into an upright position. Depravia's front door was blown off its hinges seconds later, hurtling to the side where it remained, a dented metal corpse. Immediately afterward, Harry and Draco stumbled out, followed by a man she had never met but could only imagine was the most recognisable man in the world after her own father.

" _Lucius_?" The Malfoy patriarch had barely stepped out of his son's club when Narcissa attached herself to him, crushing him in a hug of Hermione-esque proportions. Before he could react to that, he found himself on the receiving end of a remarkably strong slap and some of the most vulgar language anyone in the area had ever heard. While Draco was still trying to recover from his mother's uncharacteristic response, Lucius was trying to placate her and save himself from a more painful death than his faked one. Harry pulled Draco over to Troy, ignoring the shocked expressions of the few Aurors outside.

"Hey."

"Hay's for horses..." Harry raised an eyebrow at Troy's slurred words and looked at Malachai, who shrugged a little, smiling.

"She'll be awake enough to scold you in a few minutes." Troy stuck her tongue out at her father, eyes fluttering a little as she struggled to stay awake. The American man smoothed her hair from her forehead, smile widening.

"Mallory would have a word with you, Auror Potter – however, I would advise speaking to Aurors Tanner and Jones first; they have a Pensieve for you." Harry sighed and nodded, eyes scanning the scene in the tiny alley where Depravia was situated.

Elliot was standing beside Malachai, otherwise ignoring everyone while murmuring to Troy, who occasionally answered but usually just smiled or nodded. Mallory was standing to the side with one of two Ministry Pensieves; the second was with Creed and Valeria. Lucius stood with his arms around Narcissa, who was crying silently into his chest. Gerard directed Aurors from near the entrance of the alley into Depravia, where they presumably were beginning to clean up the mess in the Core – or what was left of it. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, nuzzling the top of his head, wondering if this was really over, and then remembering with dread the Pensieve. His scattered thoughts quieted as he focused on the blonde in his arms and he felt himself smile.

"I love you." Draco looked up a little, touching his nose to Harry's.

"I love you too."

* * *

Medical examiner Edward Leather sat behind his rarely used desk, eyeing the Pensieve in front of him. Mallory had left it, requesting he look over the contents while he dealt with the press and other details. They were shorthanded – Aurors were coming home but they all had to be debriefed and various other time consuming bureaucratic details had to be seen to, while Depravia was in the hands of crime scene investigators and a small army of cleaners who finally set about clearing the club of its gruesome contents, courtesy of a diseased madman's mind and ancient spells they had no counter to – yet. Malachai, Gerard, and the newly appeared Lucius were in the midst of adapting those ancient spells to modern use. Nis had, apparently, used his natural ability with magic, combined with the ability given to him by the jivor implanted in his neck (the true reason for the lead poisoning, as the cube was made of lead) to lure the unsuspecting, unprotected Aurors into Depravia, where he activated trap after trap. Some of the little used spells in the crime scene investigation unit's repertoire revealed that the last moments of those Aurors' lives had been fraught with a mixture of horrific mind games and bone numbing physical pleasures they hadn't elaborated on.

During one of the few quiet moments in Mallory's office, Lucius had explained what had happened to him; instead of committing suicide, he had created an elaborate hoax with the help of Gerard, Elliot, and the Malfoy house elves, and escaped to Hogwarts, where Minerva had given him the tools to hunt Nis. They hadn't been able to locate him with much luck until his fascination with Harry came to light. Elliot, at this point, was still oblivious to Lucius's true goals; he had assisted him only because of his father's dying wish that he do so. As old threads were unearthed connecting Nis to Troy's mother's death, they contacted the Minister of Magic; the Minister had begun to filter anonymous tips to Mallory while keeping Lucius and Gerard in the loop about the investigation's progress. He had told Lucius about the attack on Creed and Troy, and he'd followed Nis, who slipped up after running into Harry at Depravia, to Hogwarts, where he located the note from Nis and scribbled his own cryptic message on it. Harry had admitted he'd known the note was from someone else on their side, though he hadn't known who, save that the fact that he was being addressed as Mr. Potter had seemed familiar. Creed and Valeria, similarly, admitted to knowing that Lucius was alive – Creed had recognised his scent from her wandering in the Manor and Valeria had seen him while scouting with Lorcan – and that they had assisted him further, but Troy's abduction had been unexpected and probably the result of their assistance to Lucius, which Nis had known about, somehow.

They all came to the conclusion that the many connections to Troy were truly a coincidence; Nis hadn't shown any signs of wanting to hurt her past his growing obsession with Harry and her perceived nearness to him. Eddie sighed and carded a hand through his hair, bracing himself for the flood of memories deposited by Harry about his final confrontation with Nis.

* * *

_The box was eerily quiet; Nis hadn't even turned when Harry re-entered the room, eyes riveted on the flailing, screeching sand hydra destroying the arena below in its frantic attempt to devour Draco and his father. Harry dropped his eyes to the heavy axe in his hand and swallowed; Lucius had pressed it into his hands before shoving him towards the ramp leading back up to the box._

" _You certainly put on a show, Harry." He started, not expecting Nis to speak._

" _...It's what I'm good at." He was remembering the TriWizard Tournament rather vividly at this point, but there he'd been relatively prepared for every challenge, despite the stake being astronomically high – even if he hadn't known it at the time._ This _was something entirely alien to him. Nis turned and folded his arm, head tilted to the side, eyes oddly clear._

" _Are you intending to kill me with that?" he asked genially, nodding to the axe in Harry's hands._

" _Um..." Now he moved forward, spinning Harry's wand lazily in one hand._

" _Now's not the time to be hesitant, love. Surely you cannot be having second thoughts?" He stopped in front of him, tapping Harry's wand against the axe handle._

" _Just kill me – after all, I'm a threat to your precious, fawning society. I cannot be allowed to live on, I'm_ dangerous _." Harry swallowed hard again, eyes rising to Nis's; they were entirely clear, not a hint of the yellow that signaled the jivor's control and onset of complete madness. The wand fell with a clatter as Nis raised his arms to pin Harry against the wall, pressing an oddly chaste kiss to his mouth._

" _Just kill me..." The sound of a plea for death, the sensation of it being murmured against his lips, was sicking, gut-wrenching and bizarre._

" _Kill me, Harry!" He gasped and shoved Nis back, stumbling to the side, breaths coming in harsh pants. This wasn't anything like killing Voldemort, something he'd been able to do without flinching, completely justified – though it had haunted him for years after. Humans weren't meant to kill one another; it wasn't something that came naturally in the average person. Nis sighed, eyes glinting with yellow. Harry_ knew _, of course, that Nis was deranged, dangerous, murderous, but he couldn't bring himself to kill him, and he knew why – Nis was a victim in his own way._

That doesn't make it right. _He knew_ that, _too._

" _Nis – Nis, please, we can do this – without killing you." He watched the lithe man produce a curved sword from one of the niches normally meant to house food and drink._

" _I'm going to die regardless, Harry." The motions of a trained killer came easily to this man, and that gave him no hope for the future._

" _Everyone_ dies, _Harry, but it's our choice_ who _dies, and when. It's always been a choice." The blade whistled past his side and came back towards his side with deadly accuracy and unnerving speed; he was left to flee each blow and hope he could get his nerve or his wand back. Of course, this was how_ most _people died in fights – death by magic wasn't often messy, but in the real world, where magic was less relied on than most thought, it was death by blade and that was an unenviable death._

_He didn't really, consciously come to the decision to kill Nis, and the memory of doing so was hazy, even here; the sensations of hefting the axe and bringing it down across Nis's spine while he was on his knees – how he'd gotten into that position, he still wasn't sure – and shattering the lead jivor were bright and sharp; the scent of blood and the vision of glazed eyes and a fixed smile, painfully clear. In a fit of horror, he hurled the closest thing – a chair – into the wall of glass and leapt from the box, landing hard, jarring his knees and stumbling a little on the thrashing hydra's head. An instinctual response of slamming the axe into the hydra's skull was followed by another stomach turning trip down its back and across the arena to where Draco and Lucius waited, staring at him, blood spattered and dusty, in shock..._

* * *

Eddie came up from the memory with a gasp and muttered oath; trembling hands rooted through the piles of papers and files to begin his report and produce a battered flask full of fire whiskey; as he swallowed the burning liquid, he absently ran his fingers over the Pillar of Heaven image etched into the side – the seal of the empire and two rams locked in battle.

* * *

Troy eyed the trio of men in front of her, fighting the urge to pout like a student about to be reprimanded for some slight or other. She smiled a little at the sight of the three canes; she'd returned her father's and Lucius's to them as soon as they'd returned to Grimmauld; it was somehow comforting to see the pair of them with the two canes, and she soon discovered that Gerard also had one – his had a snarling black wolf head as opposed to the golden ram and silver snake.

Malachai chuckled a little at his daughter's expression.

"Be at peace, little one – we only wish to give you the news before your beloved returns home and throws us out." She sobered a little at that. Elliot had demanded she move in with him, and she had agreed, knowing she would only be there until she recovered and had to return to D.C., but that didn't make the butterflies stop fluttering when she saw him every morning, nor did it halt their ecstatic flight when he looked up and smiled at her in greeting, sun framing him becomingly per usual. She dragged her attention back to her father, uncle, and godfather. Lucius moved forward, resting a long box beside her, smiling a little.

"Draco is quite fond of you, Troy – he has been quite eager to share stories of your escapades with me." Troy snorted.

 _I bet he has._ Lucius read her sarcastic thought in her eyes and chuckled.

"I pray, of course, that perhaps you will come to see us as part of your family, but we all can see that you have quite the family here already." Her mind flitted to Harry, Draco, Elliot, the Weasleys, the Zabinis, even Creed, Valeria, Mallory, and Eddie of all people, and she felt her smile widen. Lucius covered her hands with his own, meeting her eyes.

"You know you will be possessed of a limp and may have to rely on a cane when not on duty." She nodded, sobering again. A Magus could still serve after receiving a wound such as hers; truly, only losing both legs, arms, or death could bar you from service entirely. She intended to retain her status as one of the best, limp be damned. He shook his head at the determined glint that appeared in her eyes, smiling still.

"We – Gerard, Malachai, and I – would like you to have this." He flipped open the box with unconscious flair and lifted its contents from it, gently laying the cane on her lap. She ran her fingers over it, eyes widening ever so slightly.

She recognised it, of course; she'd seen it before when she'd been living with her father's family after her mother died. A mantling hawk formed the top, its talons curled into the crown encircling a shimmering orb of ruby. Snakes, rams, and wolves chased each other down the length of wood, swirling around the crest of the Pillar of Heaven situated near the very center. At the most extreme ends, she found her family's motto – Power in Heart. She looked up and met the three pairs of eyes, feeling a watery smile forming and silently ordering herself not to cry, going so far as to threaten herself, though why that would be of use, she couldn't be sure.

"If I walk in and she's crying, I might have to kill all of you." She laughed aloud at Elliot's muffled threat, quickly wiping what moisture that had gathered at the edges of her eyes away and rising, leaning a little on the cane.

"You three are old saps, you know that?" Lucius made a small noise of neither affirmation or dissent, Gerard simply smiled neutrally, and Malachai yawned. Elliot weaved through the trio, ignoring the mocking murmur from Malachai, and wrapped his arms around Troy, ignoring the cane.

"You're alright?"

"I'm always alright – I'm a Magus."

"...You're incompetent and bossy?" She smacked his arm gently, muttering in Italian. He nuzzled the top of her head and held her closer.

"Narcissa is demanding our presence at the Manor, presumably for dinner, so I'll leave you to get ready." The four men left without preamble, and she sighed, turning a little to stare at the lavish room she was staying in.

"Dinner at the Manor. ...Goody."

* * *

Ron watched in awe as Gorman managed to cross the short distance to Narcissa without running, ignoring his wife's chiding tone to him that he shouldn't be so shocked. Patricia countered this with her usual logic, stating that given Gorman's previous behaviour and usual antics, her father's reaction was justified. Lacy interjected something properly scathing and sarcastic, and Gaius simply led Joan to Narcissa, ignoring his family's antics. Joan eventually let go of her brother's hand and ran the rest of the short distance, demanding her usual hug from the tall Malfoy matriarch. Laughing, Narcissa leaned down to deliver this affectionate gesture, looking up to see her husband approaching, eyes glittering with love and surprise at her own outward show of affection. Draco and Harry followed, Troy, Creed, and Valeria in tow. Lorcan swooped from his position above them all to settle on Lucius's shoulder, red eyes narrowed disdainfully at the gathered mortals below.

Draco and Troy had evidently decided that even this "casual" dinner required some dazzling effect, and Harry knew that Valeria had probably insisted on the same thing to Creed, who, though careful with her appearance, didn't care nearly as much as they did about their impressions on powerful figures. Tonight was what Harry called a preamble to the award ceremony taking place in a few days. Ministry officials and all their high powered friends were gathering later that evening at Malfoy Manor to celebrate the end of Nis's reign of terror. As they entered the Manor and headed to the den to relax until the guests arrived, he took note of the appearances of his friends.

The Malfoys had fallen back into their old habits, including their habit of dressing to compliment one another. Narcissa and Lucius wore white, silver, and purple – Lucius wore a darker shade than Narcissa, but both resembled winter fae royalty. Draco, in his usual way, contradicted and complimented his parents; where they wore white and purple, he wore a slightly metallic dark grey, silver, and green – matching Harry's own appearance, but Harry discounted it, knowing he'd spoken with Kreacher to make sure this occurred.

Narcissa's gown featured a tight overdress, comprised of a corset and split skirts in sheer silver. Beneath this were wide, paneled skirts in alternating lavender and white, embroidered with swans – lavender where there was white and white where there was lavender. A silver headpiece mimicking a swan draped over her head, the silver, amethyst eyed head resting on her forehead, its body and wings sweeping back from there. Simple silver spirals with droplets of amethyst adorned her ears, and she wore silver heels that completed the stylistic swan motif.

* * *

Valeria and Creed had apparently switched sensibilities; Valeria had gone the (mostly) feminine route while Creed went the masculine. Valeria's gown was done in black and blood red, with silver and royal purple accents. She too had on an overdress, again comprised of a corset and split skirts, predominately black leather with a few heart shaped silver studs down the sides; the corset's center panel was blood red with royal purple lace laid over it. The lace, if examined closely, actually made up skulls and swords, but no one was really looking that hard. The under skirts were alternating panels of blood red and black silk, edged with silver lace, and she still wore the boots and cameo she'd worn earlier, though the cameo's velvet band was now black. Her ear cuffs remained, though her hair had been done up in an elaborate ringlet confection.

Creed wore what Troy later described as a feminine tuxedo – in leather and silk, with touches of lace. The back of her coat was taken up by a "blood moon"; lithe cats ran across an unending plain in silhouette. The wrists tapered into silver and burgundy lace cuffs. Under the open coat was another faux corset, over a plain burgundy long sleeve blouse. The corset was black and silver; the panels detailed the transformation of a werecat, again in bloody silhouette. The animated skeleton hands were back, waving in silver, joined by leering silver skulls, all miniature and easily overlooked if one was possessed of a weaker stomach; her nose and tongue piercings had been replaced by skulls that occasionally cackled. She was wearing heels instead of boots; burgundy and silver, with black Latin speaking of glass castles and shadowed moons running over them in spidery writing, with an alarmingly high stiletto heel that mimicked a skeletal phalange. Tiny skeletal flute players adorned each ear, their ghostly tunes actually whispering through the air, accompanied by the tiny silver bells resting at the ends of each of her tiny braids.

* * *

In distinct contrast to the Malfoys and their icy beauty and the Aurors with their macabre homages to their respective "curses", the Del Toros were Roman aristocrats in black, deep purple, and gold. While Malachai's ensemble was predominately black with mere accents of the other colours, Troy was in a predominately purple sleeveless gown, the bodice shimmering under gold lace that mimicked crowns and stars. The over skirt was sheer black shot through with golden threads; the edge of the skirts were trimmed with more gold lace. Sheer, opera length black fingerless gloves under purple leather armbands studded with gold diamonds graced her arms. Three dimensional representations of the Pillar of Heaven seal dangled from her earlobes. As she sat, a few people noticed the golden sandals, done in Roman style, and the toe rings. At her side, Elliot was an ash and sapphire shadow, with Gerard beside him in pale green and silver – an icy spirit of new spring.

Conversation was scarce; no one seemed to want to clutter the peaceful quiet with their own thoughts. Even when the guests finally began to arrive, the volume scarcely rose; it was only at the dinner table that conversation truly began, and Harry found himself enduring more fawning, until Troy suddenly rose, right hand resting lightly on Elliot's shoulder, smile seeming innocent to anyone who didn't know her. Harry braced himself for some playful but nevertheless impossibly unacceptable act, but was rather surprised by her soft words.

"To our new beginnings."

To those new beginnings, yes – a new year during which the Weasleys would prepare to send their last child to Hogwarts at least; a year where new romance bloomed for Harry and Troy. A beginning of forgiveness between Troy and her father; a beginning of peace for the reunited Malfoys. A beginning that would blossom into some new life none of them would have expected to unfurl from that shadowed club known as Depravia, where horrors created new life without ever meaning to – as plants thrived from volcanic ash that had once buried a bustling town, their lives were enriched and enlivened by horror, given a chance at new life with Depravia's unleashed secrets. Theirs was a beginning into something unknown – unknown and exceptionally pleasurable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Del Toro motto would be in Latin, but I was/am too terrified of being wrong to actually insert it. So that's that. Sequel's in the works. TTFN.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFnet, first multichaptered HP fic I ever finished. I don't know what possessed me and I have no apologies to give.


End file.
